


A Strong Brew

by riverlandsred



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlandsred/pseuds/riverlandsred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alayne has built a simple life for herself, working at a coffee shop and trying to forget her past. Then, her past comes in the door one day, and she finds that there are some things she doesn't want to let go.</p><p>A Modern AU of the most fluffy kind: the coffee shop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alayne rode through the frosty morning streets. Hardly any cars were out yet, and her bike lights flashed intermittently into the purple darkness before dawn. She enjoyed these moments before the day began. The crispness in the air reminded her of Winterfell, her home that she sometimes felt she’d never get back to. Alayne breathed in the chill and turned into the street where she worked.

****

Although she wasn’t the only one with morning duty, Alayne knew that she’d be the first one at the shop. Myranda usually got to work late, especially on a Saturday morning when her Friday night activities usually involved little sleep.

****

After chaining her bike up, Alayne quickly began unlocking the doors and pulling chairs and tables outside. The dawn felt nippy, but she already knew how Southern days worked and how by noon the day would feel almost warm. Her mind swarmed with images of red fall leaves, her dog Lady nipping at her heels, and her brother’s voices drifting through the trees. She thought of Arya, wondered where she was now.

****

With the scrape of a chair, she was brought back around. _That’s not me anymore. That’s not my life._

****

She reentered the cafe and began stocking the place with cream and milk near the end of the counter. A knock on the back door drew her away for the moment, but it was only one of the baker’s employees, forearms already covered in flour, and bringing fresh loaves and scones for the day. She quietly thanked him, blushing under his intent gaze.

****

Myranda always teased her about that one, pushing her towards him every chance she got, but Alayne always shied away from him. He insisted on carrying in the baker’s goods, and she allowed him, watching as he placed each warm croissant and glazed scone on the shelves.

****

He smiled at her when he stood straight again. “There,” he said. “That should do it for the morning. I’ll stop by in the afternoon again with some pastries and tarts.”

****

“That’s perfect, Robert,” she replied. “Thanks again.”

****

“No problem,” he said with a smirk. “And please, call me Rob.” Alayne gave him only a tight smile in response, and he quickly made his way out the door.

****

She stared down at the clean counter for a moment after he left, trying not to remember. She gasped at the sudden jingle from the door.

****

“Morning, love,” Myranda called. “Sorry I’m a bit late, but circumstances made getting out of bed this morning a little difficult.” She grinned at Alayne from the other side of the counter.

****

“Whose bed was it this time?” Alayne asked and chuckled at Myranda’s affronted gasp.

****

“Well, well, look who’s finally starting to joke about sex,” she said. “Has that baker’s boy been in already this morning? And by _in_ , I’m talking about his dick in your--”

****

“Ugh! Please stop!”

****

Myranda laughed loudly, while pinning her hair up in a bun. “And by the way,” she continued. “I’m not exactly sure whose bed I was in this morning, but on first glance, he looked very hot. I’m rather proud of myself. I need to call up Mya later and see how her night went.”

****

Alayne only continued smiling, while filling the water container and placing clean glasses nearby.

****

About fifteen minutes later, the cafe was already buzzing. Both Myranda and Alayne went back and forth between taking orders and brewing coffee. Myranda worked primarily with the Chemex, slowly pouring water through the grounds as she chatted with customers. Alayne meanwhile prepared espressos, cappuccinos, and lattes, letting her mind wander while pouring leaf-shaped designs into the drinks.

****

The morning rush came and went, leaving only a few customers scattered about, working on their laptops or reading books. Alayne used the lull to reorder the bakery items and clean off the counter. Meanwhile, Myranda toasted a bagel, slathered it with some cream cheese, and ate her breakfast at one of the tables.

****

As Alayne was just finishing with the baked goods, she heard the door jingle and swiftly turned to greet their latest customer. But when she saw him, her smile immediately fell and her throat felt both constricted and painfully dry.

****

He looked almost the same, although slightly less gaunt. His skin used to stretch tight across his cheekbones, and his eyes always seemed red-rimmed, but now, he looked different and softer. He hadn’t noticed her yet, as his eyes skimmed the menu above her head, but Alayne was almost transfixed, staring directly at him and taking in all his features, including the burns that still covered half his face. That, of course, hadn’t changed. Alayne could barely breathe, and before his eyes dropped down from the menu, she quickly scurried toward the back room, where they stocked extra grounds and milk.

****

From this vantage point, she watched Myranda quickly leave her seat, give her a questioning look, then move toward the customer.

****

“Morning! How can I help you?”

****

“I’m not sure what all these names mean, girl.” Even from behind the wall that shielded her from his view, Alayne heard his voice, and if she hadn’t known it was him before, she knew now. She’d heard that rasp on a regular basis, in all its harshness. She’d heard it when he critiqued her and heard it when he asked her to run away with him. Hearing it now, noticing the changes in tone and the lack of its former grating hardness, nearly sent her through the back door and on her bike, riding swiftly away from him. Instead, she stayed. She wanted to hear more.

****

“Well, we get our coffee imported from the places on our menu. Each crop tastes different from the others, so which one you choose depends on what kind of flavor you like.”

****

“What if I just want black coffee?” Alayne heard him again and noticed that in his impatience his voice still was a bit rough.

****

Myranda laughed and replied, “Look, how about I just pour you a cup, and we’ll keep things simple?”

****

“Sounds good to me,” he said and fished out the money to pay. Alayne watched as he walked toward a table on the far side of the shop and took a slim book out of his back pocket. When Myranda gave her another odd look while pouring the coffee, Alayne decided it was time she get her nerve up and emerge from her hiding place.

****

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Myranda asked, once Alayne finally sidled up next to her. Alayne hardly heard her though. She had already begun staring at him again, watching as he placed both his elbows on the table and stared at his book with the utmost concentration.

****

“Helloooo,” Myranda whispered. After snapping her fingers in front of Alayne’s face, Myranda finally got her attention. “Damn...is this why you never want to go out with me? Do you _always_ turn into a scared freak when you see a guy you like?”

****

“What?” Alayne finally replied. “No, that’s not--”

****

“Oh please, kid,” Myranda said. “Don’t play coy with me. I know exactly what just happened. Honestly though, I never would’ve thought you went for the big, scary type.” Alayne narrowed her eyes at Myranda, hoping she’d keep her voice down. “Let me warn you now: that doesn’t always mean they have big dicks. I’ve been disappointed by the tall, buff type way too many times.”

****

“Please stop, Randa,” Alayne pleaded. “He’s going to hear you.”

****

“He’s across the damn shop,” she replied. “Stop freaking out. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a man before.” Alayne stayed quiet again and continued staring at him. “Wow. You’re really into this one, aren’t you? Want me to say something? Make an opening for you?”

****

“No!” Alayne urged her, underneath her breath. “This isn’t the baker’s boy. _Don’t_ try to set me up with this one.”

****

“Alright, alright,” Myranda said, while pouring the coffee from the Chemex into a mug. “No matchmaking. ...But maybe you can bring his coffee over to his table.”

****

Alayne only stared at her, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

****

“Right,” Myranda whispered. “No matchmaking.” She walked around Alayne and brought him the coffee. The man only grunted his thanks.

****

_Sandor_ , Alayne thought to herself. _That was his name. And mine was Sansa._

****

As the morning continued, Alayne managed to pour some drinks for customers, even though her hands shook and her senses were always on full alert, waiting for him to move or do something. Instead, he just remained sitting there, reading his book, a pasttime that Sansa never imagined the Hound indulging in.

****

She never imagined it because he was supposed to be dead. She can still remember the tears she held back when Petyr slipped her the newspaper page during a morning at work. She looked at him questioningly, but he just pointed down toward the page. Then, she read it. After leaving a trail of brutal murders and multiple rapes, his grave was finally found. The article featured an interview with the priest of a nearby church. “The Hound is dead,” he said. His somber photo accompanied the statement. She looked back up at Petyr, who owned the coffee shop she worked at (one of his many business ventures in the area), and he only offered a wink. He probably thought she’d be happy to hear the news of the Lannister henchman finally getting his, but instead, she felt cold and even more alone than she felt before reading the article.

****

Jolting her out of her reverie, one of the regulars began talking to her about the latest episode of her favorite show, and she finally felt herself relax somewhat and indulge in conversation. With her eyes riveted on the cup she was preparing a cappuccino in, Alayne suddenly felt a heavy weight on her skin. She could feel Sandor move from his place and over to her side of the shop, where the bin for dirty cups and dishes rested. Her customer continued discussing the latest plot twist, but Alayne’s palms had gone sweaty.

****

“What do you think, Alayne?” her customer asked. “Will she rat on him and the club? Or just take the kids and get the hell out of there?”

****

“I’m not sure,” Alayne forced herself to shakily reply. “I just hope she makes it out alive and finds somewhere safe to start over.” With the drink finished, she finally had to lift her gaze and address the customer directly. When she did, there were two sets of eyes staring into hers.

****

It was the eyes behind her customer, dark gray and intent upon her, that drained the blood from her face and transfixed her gaze upon him.

****

The television conversation continued, but Alayne didn’t hear a word. She watched as his eyes shifted from surprise to disbelief to something else entirely. They held no rage, as they once did, but she still noticed a lingering pain there, a feature that only grew as he continued to stare at her.

****

Noticing that something was off, the customer turned around and noticed Sandor standing there. “Hi,” he said casually. “You a fan of _Sons of Anarchy_ too?”

****

Sandor ripped his eyes from her face and looked at the young man as if he hadn’t noticed his presence before. After a moment, he whispered a quiet negative and quickly left the shop.

****

Alayne knew he’d gone, but her eyes still remained on the space where he stood only seconds before.

****

_He saw me_ , she thought. _He knows_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments and kudos! This chapter was a little bit more difficult than I expected, but hopefully, you all enjoy it.

The woosh of steam as Alayne made another cappuccino broke through the relative quiet that pervaded the shop this morning. The rush had come and gone, but Alayne still felt oddly off center.

****

Last night, she’d gone home and retrieved the old shoe box she kept underneath her bed. She sifted through the clippings and again found the newspaper article that announced the Hound’s death. She read it multiple times, then continued staring at it. She wondered how he could have died and yet still lived.

****

_Didn’t Sansa die?_

****

Alayne remembered this thought as she began working on the next latte. Yes, she died and left a brown-haired orphan in her place. Her surrogate father, Petyr Baelish, took her in, gave her a job, and often secretly assured her that one day she’d get it all back. Yet, as the days passed and turned into years, Alayne began losing what exactly she would return to. Snippets of her past returned here and there, during sleepless nights or when her mind would wander, but ultimately, she thought she’d let go of it all. Sansa indeed had died.

****

Then, he walked into her shop. She saw a dead man walking again and his second life mirrored her own. He revealed the performance her life had become, as she tried to convince herself she was living. When he stared into her eyes and she stared back, they understood one another not as former acquaintances but as fellow runaways, poor souls trapped somewhere between life and death.

****

“Alayne, we need another cappuccino and an espresso,” Myranda called, breaking through her thoughts.

****

“Got it, Randa,” Alayne replied and weakly smiled at her friend.

****

Since they opened the shop this morning, Myranda knew there was something off about Alayne. She seemed in a trance, placing the chairs outside and rearranging the clean spoons. She hardly noticed when that sweet baker’s boy delivered the croissants and bagels for the day. As always, he tried getting her attention, tried cracking a few jokes, but Alayne practically ignored him. Most days, she at least indulged him with a smile or two, but today, she was off in space.

****

After he left, Myranda caught her by the arm and asked, “You doing okay, love? You seem like you’ve got something weighing on your mind.”

****

Alayne only stretched her lips into a smile and assured her friend, “I’m fine. I just had a rough night’s sleep.” Myranda let her continue her work, but throughout the morning, she kept her eye on her, noticing how she rarely spoke to customers and seemed intent only on the coffee she was making.

****

Once she gave Alayne the latest order, Myranda stole her usual bagel and took it over to an empty table on the far side of the shop. While sifting through various texts and missed calls, wondering which ones she’d actually return, she heard the door jingle softly and the big man from yesterday walk in. From her peripheral vision, Myranda watched as he approached the counter. She turned her head slightly and saw when Alayne finally checked to see who their next customer was and immediately dropped a cup onto its dish. The clang of ceramic against ceramic rang out in the cafe, and Myranda almost laughed at Alayne’s complete loss of control when it came to this guy.

****

Alayne tried getting Randa’s attention, hoping that she could once again deal with him, but when she finally found her sitting on the other side of the cafe, Randa was seemingly transfixed on her cell phone. Alayne softly whimpered when her friend wouldn’t look her way.

****

_I have to speak to him at some point_ , she thought. She steeled herself, quickly wrapped a small towel around the steamer to clean it of any milk, then moved toward the cash register.

****

With her eyes cast downward, she said, “Morning. Can I help you with anything?” Only silence answered her question. Alayne noticed his broad hand lying flat on the countertop. There was a long scar cutting across the back of it and breaking up the bit of hair that grew past his wrist. She watched as his fingers curled into his palm, then uncurled back out.

****

“What do you recommend?” From his height, Sandor could only see the top of her head. Her hair was parted to the side, and when he really looked, he noticed a bit of red peeking out from her scalp. He almost wanted to smirk at the girl’s feeble disguise attempt. She seemed so small, but indeed she had grown. She was even tall for a woman.

****

“We’ve got a new espresso on tap today. It’s strong and has a slight citrus aftertaste,” she answered in much the same way she’d mechanically answered a number of customers today. She heard him give a slight huff of breath, then watched his hand reach into his back pocket.

****

“That’s fine,” he finally said. While fishing out his money, he looked at her plain white t-shirt, loosely tucked into the front of tight black jeans. He'd only ever seen her in fine blouses or simple dresses. To see her dressed so casually and her hair arranged so haphazardly initially sent a jolt of anger through him. He didn't exactly know why. Then, he looked again and realized that she looked right in those clothes. Perhaps this was who she really was, not the primped and pressed girl, fantasizing about her storybook future. It irked him though that she seemingly never forgot one of her old habits.

****

He passed her the amount she asked for, and with a trembling hand, she reached out for it, still not looking at him only at his hands. Before she could quietly take the money, however, he quickly grabbed her wrist in his hand. She felt his iron grip, but instead of frightening her, it pulled her out of her trance. She felt anchored to him in a way and subsequently anchored back to reality.

****

“Look at me,” he growled under his breath. When she hesitated, he tightened his fingers only slightly, then added, “Please, little bird.”

****

With that whisper, Alayne couldn't hold back any longer. She looked up and stared directly at him. His lips were pinched together, and he looked as if he were staring at her and hoping for some secret to be revealed. His eyes, like yesterday, held a question in them, but were fortunately devoid of the rage that once frightened her so. She let out a shaky breath, but her gaze remained steady. He then let her go and walked over to a table near the counter where she usually placed prepared drinks.

****

Her hands shaking and her jaw trembling, Alayne moved over to the grinder. She braced herself on the counter and began taking slow, deep breaths. _He won’t hurt you_ , she kept telling herself. _He never did before. He won’t start now._ She kept breathing for a few more moments, calming her nerves and her racing heart. As she continued steadying her breathing from behind the coffee machine, she studied him. Again, he took a slim book out of his back pocket and began reading it. Although yesterday, he seemed intent on its subject; today, his eyes kept darting around. Alayne realized he was probably as restless as she was. _Did he mean to find her? Or was this an accident?_ While finally getting to work on his espresso, Alayne felt Randa sidle up next to her.

****

“Your man is back,” Randa whispered. Alayne only groaned in answer. “I watched that little exchange.” Alayne remained silent, but Randa persisted.

****

“You know him, don’t you?” Randa asked, although it sounded more like a statement.

****

“You’re just going to keep talking about this, aren’t you?” Alayne asked, after letting out a resigned chuckle.

****

“Honey, this is the most action I’ve ever seen you get. No, I’m not letting this go.”

****

“We knew each other a few years back.” When Randa didn’t seem content, Alayne continued. “We had a...mutual friend.” Alayne tried to swallow past her hurt. It was these memories that she tried so hard to repress over the years. She hoped Randa didn’t notice if her voice faltered or her hands shook.

****

“Hmm...well it seems like a little more than that. He hasn’t stopped looking at you, since you started talking to me,” Randa said. She watched Alayne’s cheeks blush, as she pulled the espresso. Randa couldn’t help but smile to herself.

****

“Espresso up!” Alayne called, then quickly walked to the far side of the bar to wash dishes, although Randa knew she was just running from him. Randa stayed behind and watched the big man pick up his cup with a quizzical look on his burnt face. She noticed the scars yesterday as well, but now she would have to ask Alayne where they came from.

****

“What the fuck is this?” He huffed, while trying to delicately handle the small ceramic cup with his large hands.

****

“It’s an espresso,” Randa answered. “You ordered it.” He kept on fiddling with it, holding it by its small handle.

****

“She didn’t tell me it came in a teaspoon.”

****

Randa laughed, “Trust me, those shots pack a punch. It’ll give you the same high that a cup of coffee does.” Sandor grumbled, then brought the tiny, piece of shit back to his table. _Of course the little bird would recommend something like this_ , he thought.

****

He took a sip and almost squinted his eyes at the bitter taste. It reminded him of the wine he’d get passed out on back before his injury and before he met the Priest. He took another sip, realizing he really liked the stuff, and watched the little bird washing dishes on the other side of the counter. He recalled the things he said to her the last time he had a strong drink in him.

****

_No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them._

****

The words came back to him as if he had just uttered them. As he placed the espresso back on the dish, he chuckled at himself. After all his insults toward her about her fairy tales and her romantic movies, he still wanted to be her rescuer. And why was he here now? Why had he come back, when he only meant to spend a morning in this town resting before moving forward in his trip?

****

For the past four years, Sandor had spent his time just a few hundred miles east, working as a gravedigger at a small church. After a run-in with some of his brother’s men, he almost died on the edge of an abandoned parking lot. Sansa’s little sister was there with him as well, but she had no mercy for him. He watched as she jumped in the back of some stranger’s truck and left him to bleed out. Fate had other plans though. He woke up in an old bedroom with an even older man by his side.

****

“Sandor Clegane,” the man said. “You are alive.” With that, the man, who was really a priest, welcomed him into his home and his parish, allowing him to rest and recover there. He kept him off hard liquor and eased him through the various night terrors that would take hold of him. After four years, Sandor finally heard word of his brother, or at least what could be his brother. Although the priest advised him to stay, Sandor knew he must go and dig one last grave, bury the demon who’d wrecked his life and the lives of countless others.

****

“Let me do this,” Sandor had told the priest on his last night at the church. “And I can become the man you want me to be. I can’t while he lives.”

****

The priest shook his head. “You act as if he’s the only ghost from your past,” he said. “Isn’t there another one? Another ghost who keeps you up most nights? Whose name you cried out as I healed you?”

****

“She’s gone,” Sandor answered. “She died with the rest of her family.” He gave the old priest a stare that brooked no argument. The priest only raised his hands up in surrender.

****

“Go and do what you will, Sandor. I only hope your path leads you far from hate and towards something more lasting.”

****

“I’ve hated him since I was seven. Nothing has lasted longer than my hate. I mean to make an end of it.”  The priest only bowed his head in answer. The next morning, Sandor got in his old truck and began the journey towards his brother. Then along the way, he decided to stop for some coffee.

****

Alayne apparently never lost that sixth sense that she cultivated while engaged to Joffrey Baratheon. She could feel the Hound’s eyes boring into her back. His stare always weighed down upon her. When she first met him, he scared her, then it became a sort of game to prove to him that she wasn’t afraid. She lost track of whether her act was true or not––a habit that only grew in the years since. As she felt his eyes upon her now though, she did not know whether she really should be afraid or not.

****

The ringing of the door and the stomp of heavy boots startled her, and she looked toward the door. It was Mya, who had already set her bag and her motorcycle helmet on the counter, then rounded the bar.

****

“Alright Alayne, you wanted me to cover for you, so here I am,” Mya said. Then added under her breath, “Although I don’t even work in this shithole anymore.”

****

“Thank you so much, Mya,” Alayne answered, while wiping her wet hands with a rag and turning towards her friend. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” Mya rolled her eyes, but ended up giving Alayne a smile. Alayne always thought Mya was way more beautiful than she gave herself credit for, considering the way she dressed. Today, she wore a black tank top, black jeans, black Doc Martens, and a black leather jacket. Her face though belied her sartorial hardness. With bright blue eyes that rivalled Alayne’s and a short pixie haircut, Mya could knock any man off their feet, both literally and figuratively.

****

“Yeah, you better,” Mya replied, while playfully shoving her arm. Alayne lightly “Ow”-ed afterwards, and Mya laughed loudly.

****

“I know whose laugh that is,” Randa cried from the back room. She then ran out, holding extra coffee bags, threw them on the counter, and hugged Mya tightly. “Aw look! It’s my little drinking buddy! I shouldn’t be seeing you before 6 o’clock. What’s the occasion?”

****

Mya groaned in Randa’s arms and replied, “Alayne has some shit with her classmates.”

****

“I have a group project to work on, and this afternoon is the only time everyone in my group can meet,” Alayne clarified. She walked over to the backroom to get her bag.

****

“So it’s just you and me,” Randa said, her face breaking into a wide grin. “Which means we’re spending the whole time talking about Lothor.”

****

“No,” Mya said. “That’s _not_ what it means. It means that you’ll actually get some work done instead of eating shit on your phone all day.”

****

“Oh please,” Randa scoffed. “You know you want to talk about him.” Mya let Randa keep babbling, while she rang up a new customer. She saw Alayne, loaded with a messenger bag on her back, skip out the door, while yelling a quick goodbye. She also noticed a large guy she’d never seen before follow after her.

****

“Who was that leaving after Alayne?” Mya asked Randa.

****

“Ha! _That_ is apparently an old flame of Alayne’s. She swears they’re just passing acquaintances, but he’s been eye-fucking her all morning.” Randa suddenly noticed the couple standing at the counter, shocked at her language. She only smiled and began making their coffees.

****

Outside, Sandor quickly followed after Sansa. That cute little brunette in there was right: that espresso had sent a jolt through his system, and he rounded the corner toward the bike rack with his senses on high alert and his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He had to reach Sansa. _To do what?_ , he asked himself. He stopped abruptly when he saw her, looking down at her bike as she unlocked it from the rack. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

****

“Sansa,” he said, not sure if he was calling her or just whispering her name to himself. Either way, she looked up with her eyes wide in fear. The blood had instantly drained from her face.

****

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered hoarsely. Then, just as quickly as she’d paled a moment before, she got a set look on her face and narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know you. Please get away from me.”

****

“Still a horrible liar,” he scoffed. “If I didn’t know you before, I would’ve known you now, girl.” His heart was still beating wildly, although he wasn’t sure whether it was due to that damn drink or to the fact that he’d accidentally found her when he thought her dead. She seemed equally out of sorts and kept darting her eyes behind him, looking for a way out.

****

“What do you want from me?” she finally said through clenched teeth. “Are you working for them? Were you hired again, like their dog doing their bidding as usual?” Her eyes showed her rage, but behind that, he still saw fear.

****

“You know I left those sons of bitches years ago,” he growled in reply. “And you of all people should know that I’d never go back.” In a flash, she remembered that night again. When he wept on her shoulder, and she cupped his burnt cheek. She remembered also the kiss he’d stolen and his hands gripping onto her as if she were a lifeline. She quickly shook her head and focused on him now.

****

“Then why are you here?” She asked him with an urgency behind her eyes and her clenched lips.

****

“Sansa, I––,” he began.

****

“Stop! Don’t call me that,” she yelled now, unable to control herself any longer. Luckily, this side of the street behind the cafe was empty. “That’s not my name.” She jumped onto her bike, but he grabbed onto her handlebars. He crouched down, so his face was level with hers. She noted his flaring nostrils and the growing frustration in his eyes.

****

“I won’t call you by any other name, girl,” he said. “I’m no liar and neither are you.” He continued staring at her, adrenaline pumping through his veins, noting the light freckles on the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. He watched as her brow calmed, and she reciprocated his stare silently. Finally, she sighed and dropped her head.

****

“What do you want, Sandor?,” she whispered. His heart, which had been wildly pounding a moment ago, now seemed to quiet instantly. She never called him by his name before, not even the last night he saw her. It was always “Mr. Clegane,” or that hateful “Sir,” or that one time he really pissed her off and she called him “Dog” like all the rest of them. Yet, the name didn’t sound foreign to her voice. He immediately knew he wanted her to say it again.

 

“I was just passing through, little bird,” he softly replied.

****

“You expect me to believe that?,” she scoffed and levelled her eyes at his again. “Now, who’s the liar?”

****

Sandor gently caught her chin in his hands and answered, “I was just passing through, girl. Believe that.” To his surprise, her chin began to tremble in his hands, and she pursed her lips together, trying to hold off what inevitably came. He watched the tears trickle down her cheeks and land on his hand.

****

“You weren’t looking for me?,” she said through her tears.

****

“No,” he finally said, after spending a few moments trying to gauge what the best answer would be. “I thought you were dead. No one’s heard from you since Joff’s wedding.” She softly nodded at his answer, tears still falling. She quickly wiped them and pulled her face from his grasp.

****

“Well, I _am_ dead,” she said flatly. “And you can just pass through. Leave me behind like you did before.”

 **  
**Sansa pushed his hands off her handlebars, and he gave her no resistance. He was stunned. She pedalled around him and down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this. I was actually going to post this last week, but wasn't happy with the chapter and rewrote much of it. Hope you all enjoy!

Sandor stood frozen, silently watching as she pedalled further from him. Whereas his mind was racing moments before, now he felt a suffocating stillness. Slowly, his shock began morphing into something else. From the base of his spine and up his back, he felt a cold tension creep up on him that he hadn’t felt in years. He clenched his hands and shook his head, trying to stave off the feeling, but it kept coming.

 

In purposeful strides, he turned and began walking back to his truck parked in front of the cafe. With shaking hands, he pulled the keys from his pocket and opened the door. He jumped in and slammed the door shut. After taking countless loud and shallow breaths, he gripped the steering wheel in his hands. The keys weren’t in the ignition, he had nowhere to go, but he wrung the wheel as if it were a lifeline, holding him in place. Finally, he placed his forehead on the wheel and yelled.

 

He slammed his hands against the wheel a couple times, then yelled again––a guttural growl that ripped his throat in two. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled gulps of air through his lungs. Before his eyes flickered nights when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, having similar panic attacks after nightmares of fire and Gregor and the girl he left behind. To the last of these, the priest would always whisper repeatedly, “It’s not your fault.” It took him ages to finally start down the road toward believing that himself.

 

Sansa’s final words just now shattered all of that.

 

He _had_ left her there, hadn’t he? While the fires in that epic streetfight raged around the hotel she and the rest of the women were holed up in, he’d gotten spooked and ran back inside in search of her. He found her in her room, curled up on her bed and trying to hide away from the violence outside. In his alcohol-soaked and panic-induced mood, he approached her and pinned her against the bed, trying to convince her to leave with him.

 

Through the fog, he remembered snippets of their dialogue, especially his promise to keep her safe, but what he remembered most of all was the fear in her eyes as she stared back at him. Thinking to frighten her into moving, he took out his knife and placed it against her throat. In his experience, fear usually made people do what he wanted them to do. Yet, Sansa only shrank from him further and began whispering a prayer. He hardly remembered what happened next, but the morning after, he had woken up on the outskirts of the city in just his bloodied undershirt and grimey pants. Sometimes, when he looked back on the night years later, he remembered her cool hand on his cheek, but most days, he hardly remembered anything at all––except the fire and the prayer she whispered.

 

The priest had told him that he gave Sansa a choice, and she chose for herself. To take her against her will would’ve been wrong, even if he thought he was doing the right thing. Most nights, Sandor just nodded and stayed silent, while the priest tried to rationalize the most irrational night of his life. Over time, he resigned himself to the priest’s words, although he still couldn’t reconcile himself to the idea that he’d left her to become the Imp’s woman and to her disappearance and assumed death. Those were the two events that rankled in the back of his mind, keeping him from truly forgiving himself for not taking her that night or earlier, even if it would’ve been against her will.

 

Now, those doubts grew exponentially. He thought her dead, but no: she was alive and leading a life without any of her past connections, not even her name. She obviously wanted to forget it all. Yet, out of all the features of her past, she remembered how he had left her. That was her side of the story. It wasn’t that she made the wrong choice or that fate seemed against her. It was that he had walked out on her, leaving her to the lions.

 

His guilt ate away at him, while he continued rubbing his forehead into the hands now resting on his steering wheel. Finally, he breathed in through his nose, slammed his keys into the ignition, and peeled out onto the road. He weaved through cars, making his way toward his motel.

 

As he drove, another thought eased out of his unconscious. It went along the lines of “Fuck her!” From there, his mind took a different turn. He owed her nothing. He gave her a way out, extended his hand to her, and she left him hanging. The priest was right. This _wasn’t_ his fault, not one bit. He did what he could. He could’ve been her knight in shining fucking armor, but instead, she stayed and became the Imp’s whore. And if she wanted to stay in this middle-of-nowhere shithole, then so be it. He had work to do and his brother to kill. He didn’t have time to get mixed up with a little girl again. First her, then her sister, which landed him with a wound that still ached. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake again and get his head even more fucked up than it already was.

 

Sandor’s truck came to a screeching halt in the motel parking lot. He quickly jumped out and stalked toward his room. Once inside, he pulled his duffel bag up onto the bed and began throwing his things back inside. He didn’t even know why he had stayed another day anyways. _Because you wanted to see her again, jackass_ , his head fired back. He growled to himself and walked over to the bathroom picking up his toothbrush and toothpaste, then throwing those into his bag.

 

His hands twitched every time he passed by the mini-fridge, knowing there was probably some cheap liquor inside. But no, he wouldn’t let her have that kind of power over him. After giving the room a final run-through, he pulled his bag onto his shoulder, turned in his keys in the lobby, and walked back out to his truck.

 

He made his way through the in-city traffic and finally merged onto the interstate, heading west as he planned. Once he got his truck into the country and away from most cars, he switched on the cruise control and let out a deep breath. He was finally out of there and away from her.

 

As the sun began to set, he fished his sunglasses out of his bag and pulled down his truck visor to shield his eyes. When he did, a piece of paper fell out, fluttering down to his lap. While working at the church, he hardly used this truck. He could walk most places, and he didn’t want his comparatively expensive Chevy bringing attention to himself. So when the paper fell out of the visor, he frowned at it.

 

His fingers touched the soft, once crumpled paper, and he immediately knew what it was. He flattened it on his steering wheel, and written lightly in pencil, and made even lighter over the years, were the words, “Thank you for yesterday. You were so brave.”

 

He was instantly pulled back to the moment she’d passed him, while her fiancé, the political, public face that hid his family’s underworld crime, led her through a crowd of supporters. The day before, during a “goodwill visit,” Joffrey incited a riot after sneeringly deriding the inhabitants of one of the capital’s seedier neighborhoods. The people retaliated in rare form, breaking through car windshields and pummeling various members of their group. After getting Joffrey into his car and watching as it sped away, Sandor turned back in search of Sansa. Through the din, he spotted her red hair in the middle of a few men and then tore his way through the crowd and to her. Once he reached her, that was the first time she looked at him without fear in her eyes. Quite the contrary, she looked at him with something akin to adoration. He pulled her into his arms and ran back with her to the only car that was left.

 

Once inside, she held onto him tightly the whole ride back to the Baratheon mansion, as he drove them through the city. He whispered, “It’s alright, little bird,” to her repeatedly, but her grip remained, so he held onto her tightly in return, lightly resting his cheek on the top of her head and hoping she wouldn’t notice.

 

The next day, in an effort to quell the bloodshed and destruction of the previous day, the Lannisters orchestrated another outing, in a more “well-bred” side of the city. Joffrey’s grandfather paid off his various street connections, including Sandor’s brother, to make sure no nonsense occurred that day. It was during this public appearance that his little bird brushed past him and pushed the bit of paper into his hands.

 

He remembered looking down and quickly reading her scribbled words. She was already on the raised platform with Joffrey, but he felt her eyes on him, waiting for a reaction. Sandor wasn’t used to being thanked. He did his job, got paid, and that was all, so the emotions that roiled around in his stomach confused him. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

 

He crumbled up the piece of paper, looked up at Sansa, and gave her a scornful smirk. The crowd was watching her, but he still saw her eyebrows droop and her jaw grow rigid. Instead of adoration, now he saw hurt in her eyes, then she quickly turned back to the crowd and schooled her face into the unemotional mask she usually wore.

 

She didn’t notice how he stuffed the paper in his pocket, then later, he placed it on the clip in his truck’s visor. Years later, it fell loose and fluttered down onto his lap. He kept shifting his eyes towards it, as his truck sped west.

 

* * *

 

After the lunch rush had gone, Alayne’s mind finally quieted. _He isn’t coming anymore_ , she thought. _He’s gone again_. She anticipated, especially after her tossing and turning last night, that this would be a welcome circumstance. Nevertheless, her heart sank at the thought, and she breathed past a tightening in her chest. She had asked for it though, and he obliged. Just as he did last time.

 

She began wiping down the tables, pushing various crumbs into her hand and shaking them off into the trash can. She buzzed about, keeping herself occupied and trying to find some joy in her regained anonymity.

 

Myranda watched the girl in pity. Her boyfriend hadn’t come in today, and she could tell that Alayne was trying to play it off, as if she weren’t waiting for him with bated breath all morning. When she finished wiping down the tables, Alayne rejoined her at the counter, where Randa just couldn’t help herself any longer.

 

“Y’know, he probably just has different schedules each day,” Randa began.

 

“What?” Alayne asked, frowning upon Randa.

 

“I’m talking about the guy you’ve been mooning over. Tall, beefy, scars on his face. You must remember him,” Randa teased, while nudging Alayne in the ribs.

 

“Oh,” Alayne sighed. “Him. I think he was just passing through town.”

 

“You guys talk yesterday?” Randa asked. Alayne gave her a surprised look. “Mya and I noticed him walk out after you.”

 

“No,” Alayne replied hesitantly. “I mean...yes. Yeah, we talked, but only briefly. Only to say hello.”

 

“You are by far the worst liar I’ve ever met,” Randa said with a laugh. Alayne glanced at her after that comment, seemingly annoyed. “Don’t worry though. I won’t press you for details.”

 

“Thank you,” Alayne said sarcastically.

 

“Except just one thing,” Randa quickly squeaked, and Alayne groaned loudly. “How’d he get those scars? Was he in the army?”

 

Without thinking, Alayne answered, “No, he’s had them since he was a kid.” Shocked at her own admittance, she felt her eyes bulge out. _Why had she told his secret?_ Quickly, she added, “I think his sheets caught on fire while he was sleeping or something. At least, that’s what I heard.”

 

“Oh wow,” Randa answered, her teasing attitude suddenly sobered. “Poor thing.”

 

_I guess I’m not that terrible of a liar_ , Alayne thought. Randa’s “poor thing” rang in her ears, and she remembered how that was almost the exact phrase that went through her head when he first told her the story. Although given that Alayne knew the real story, the image of his monstrous brother quickly followed that of the wounded little boy.

 

The cafe atmosphere was beginning to settle back into a quiet calm. The regulars were either reading on the sofas or meeting with colleagues at the tables. Randa fiddled with her phone, as usual during the lull, while Alayne thought about experimenting with some new techniques she read about online recently. She began reordering her station around the espresso machine, oddly excited to try a few new things.

 

As she worked, Alayne’s mind drifted back to her conversation with Sandor yesterday. For some reason, he triggered something that pushed her into the past, with all its regrets. Seeing him again made her reevaluate her decision of so many years ago. Of course, there had been times since when she looked back on that night and wondered why she didn’t go with him. His bloodied clothes and alcoholic stench dimmed considerably in her memory, and instead, she only remembered his pleading voice, his frightened eyes, and his rough kiss. It was the rescue she’d always wanted, and yet she stayed behind.

 

Yesterday, while these regrets and fears roiled within her when he finally spoke to her, she threw it all in his corner. _He_ was to blame, and _he_ was the one who left _her_. His abandonment fueled her rage and gave her the means out of a conversation that made her feel way too uncomfortable. She still went to her group meeting, but she was barely there mentally. Some of her peers commented on her behavior, so she just credited it to lack of sleep––her usual excuse.

 

That night, her excuse became a reality, as she tossed and turned, replaying her conversation with Sandor then replaying encounters much further in the past. Out of these memories, she kept returning to that night, when the streetfight between the Lannisters and the Baratheons finally reached a fever pitch. Now, however, when she really took a look at that night, her thoughts seemed muddled, more like dreams than memories. She felt Sandor’s kiss, for instance, but she couldn’t see it. She smelled again the blood and liquor on his clothes, and she could hear his labored breathing, his mumbled curses, and his vow to keep her safe. Suddenly, she again recalled the touch of tears on his scarred cheek. She had forgotten that. After too long spent trying to recall every detail, she gave up, allowing the dream to be swallowed up in firelight.

 

Now, in the coffee shop, she quickly shook her head, hoping Randa didn’t notice her flight into daydream and focused again on that new technique she read the other day.

 

While kneeling underneath the counter, digging around in the corners behind what she usually used, Alayne felt a nudge on her back. She swatted the hand away, knowing it was Randa. Then, she felt someone kick her ass. She quickly turned around.

 

“What the hell, Randa?” She asked, annoyed. Randa only beamed down at her with a smile that spread from ear to ear. It was part mischievous and part triumphant.

 

“Look who’s here, Alayne,” she said in a voice much louder than was necessary, especially since Alayne was still on the floor right beneath her. This was how Randa usually helped her greet the baker’s boy, and Alayne quickly crawled up from the floor, ready for the usual awkward conversation.

 

This afternoon, however, it wasn’t the baker’s boy who greeted her.

 

“Hi, little bird,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Sansa’s friend wasn’t helping much either, as he noticed her eyes light up when he greeted Sansa. That girl would do wonderfully in the world that both he and Sansa came from. She obviously had way too much sociability for so small a town. _His_ girl though, the girl he made a U-turn on the freeway after three hours of driving for, was silent and obviously stunned.

 

Not knowing who he was supposed to order from, Sandor cleared his throat and said to the space in between the two girls, “I’ll just have another one of those small coffees I had yesterday.” Sansa remained still, but the other girl quickly sprung into action, moving toward the register.

 

“So you liked Alayne’s recommendation more than mine, huh?,” she said. “Not too surprising.” The girl winked at him, and Sandor narrowed his eyes at her, annoyed and partly amused. After giving her his cash, he began moving toward a table, but then noticed the stools that lined the bar right next to where Sansa usually made drinks. _You didn’t drive all the way back here to play chicken_ , he thought. He quickly changed direction and pulled a stool out from beneath the bar.

 

At the noise, Alayne looked up in time to see Sandor take the seat closest to her side of the bar, right where she placed the finished drinks. Rather than lose her cool and start dropping cups, she took a deep breath and began working on his espresso. As she worked, however, she had a hard time not sneaking small peeks at him through the corner of her eye.

 

He didn’t take out a book to read today. Instead, he picked at the rough wood on the counter. From her point of view, Alayne couldn’t see his eyes, which were lidded. Yet, there were small moments when she noticed him also peek up at her. First, his eyes settled on her hips, which were covered in a pair of dark jeans. Then, after a few moments that felt interminable, he went back to picking at the countertop, but each time he raised his eyes, he moved a bit further up her body. _He’s acting like a little kid_ , Alayne thought. The fearsome eyes she’d brooded over last night in her memory were now replaced by those of a shy, hesitant man. She felt oddly amused; his glance still made her feel heavy and light at the same time.

 

After a couple minutes, his eyes reached her chest, and he spent almost as long there as he did on her hips. She wore a simple v-neck, long-sleeved shirt, but it seemed that he was barely concerned with whatever clothes she had on. Alayne finished pouring his cup, then slid it towards him, trying to shake off the pleasant feeling that settled in her stomach because of his not-so-secret looks.

 

“Here’s your espresso,” she said, knocking him out of his little trance. He looked up at her and nodded his thanks.

 

“Alayne, is it?,” he asked with a sardonic smile on his face. “How’d you come up with that one?”

 

“Not right now, Sandor,” she whispered, while turning to quickly look for Randa.

 

“She’s on the other side of the cafe, fucking around with her phone,” Sandor said, reading her look. “She can’t hear us.” Alayne almost chuckled under her breath.

 

“You’d be surprised,” she said. Sandor frowned, but seemed not to fall for her evasive maneuver. He still looked at her, waiting for her to answer his question and looking as if he wanted to ask a few more. “This isn’t the right time or place,” she added.

 

Sandor huffed in annoyance and took a sip of his espresso. Alayne almost wanted to laugh, while he slurped from the small cup, but she only smiled instead. He noticed her look and stared down at the countertop once he set his drink down, still obviously annoyed at her refusal to answer his question.

 

With his head down, Alayne took her chance to really look at him now. As she noted when she first saw him again, he looked a bit more filled out than before. Hopefully, his diet consisted more of food than of alcohol, as it had in the capital. Now, his hair was cropped closer to his head instead of the long hair he once sported. Alayne found herself missing his former haircut, but then quickly shook her head. He was still larger than most men and seemed to still work out quite a bit. She suddenly remembered how it had felt to be pressed against him that day of the riot. That memory, however, was quickly followed by the memory of him tossing aside her thank you note the day after the riot.

 

In a thankful gesture, she secretly wrote a small note for him the day after he saved her from some rioters in the city. Their conversations up to that point had been brief although impactful, especially the one about his scars. Yet, she hardly knew what to make of her fiancé’s bodyguard most days, and after helping her, she wanted to show her gratitude without making a fuss out of it, knowing he wouldn’t like that. So she wrote him a small note and slipped it to him in a crowd. When she looked at him again, he had a mocking grin on his face, then crumpled the note in his hand.

 

They didn’t speak much after that. She almost hated him after that. The next time she was close to him again was of course the night he left her. These thoughts incited her own question back to him.

 

“What made you come back?,” she asked. “I thought you were just passing through. I thought you would leave.” When she began, she tried to keep her voice hard and stoic, but by the time she reached the last sentence, her words faltered. As much as she tried, she couldn’t match the hardness he always showed her.

 

He must not have noticed her voice weaken though because the grim line of his mouth was still set. Through his teeth, he whispered, “This isn’t the right time or place.”

 

Alayne shook her head and let out an exasperated sigh. “Still an asshole,” she whispered.

 

That got his attention. With eyebrows raised, he laughed and sipped his drink again. He looked like he was about to say something and tried to form the words a few times. Instead, he just laughed a second time and nodded his head toward her in approval.

 

He was about to say something, when a loud knocking came from the back door. Alayne quickly moved to answer it, noticing how Randa was chatting up a customer on the other side of the cafe. She opened the door, and the baker’s assistant Rob waited there as usual, laden with the afternoon goods.

 

“Hi Alayne,” he huffed, while moving into the cafe. “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of the time.”

 

“It’s alright,” she said and led him towards the front counter. Sandor still sat there, although she noticed he already finished his espresso. She turned back to Robert and moved toward the tray of tarts and sweet loaves.

 

“No no no, little lady,” he said, while moving the tray away from her. “You’ll likely get squashed if I hand this over to you today. Is it okay if I place it here on the counter?”

 

“That’s fine,” she answered and cleared a few cups out of the way. She then began helping him place the treats on the baking shelf.

 

“I haven’t seen you out much lately,” Rob said, while they worked. “You used to go to the open mic across the street sometimes. I remember bumping into you there a few weeks ago.”

 

“I used to. I just haven’t had the time lately. Finals are coming up.”

 

“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I forgot that you go to uni here. Maybe during your break you could stop by?”

 

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling up at him as they worked. “Everything is already winding down, so I should be able to make an appearance.”

 

“That’s awesome! I have a band, and we’ve actually started performing there. You should check us out.” He looked up at her sheepishly, but beamed when he noticed her smile.

 

“Sure, just let me know when you guys are playing.” Alayne never spoke this much to Robert, partly because she was too shy, but mostly because she feared getting too attached to anything or anyone. She saw no harm though in agreeing to go see his band, especially since she missed the music nights at The Falcon. After she spoke, Robert nodded his head enthusiastically and began pulling out the last few baked goods, which Alayne noticed were different than the ones he usually delivered.

 

“I...uh...I–,” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. “I was in charge of the afternoon supply today. I made blueberry and lemon tarts. I remember you once told me you liked one of those, but I couldn’t remember which.” He laughed a little bit. “So I made both.”

 

Alayne looked up at him and noticed his cheeks turn from white to beet red in a matter of seconds.

 

“Thanks,” she began. “Actually, I–”

 

“She likes _lemon_ tarts, boy,” a voice rasped from behind her. She turned towards it and noticed Sandor with his jaw jutting out and eyebrows drawn downward. She had practically forgotten he was there, during her conversation with Rob, but there he was and looking much more like the Hound that she remembered. He was also twirling a chunk of wood through his fingers. _Did that come from the countertop?! My boss is going to kill me._

 

“You wasted your time on those blueberry ones,” he continued. “She won’t eat them.”

 

Alayne couldn’t believe him right now. Is he really getting worked up over nothing at all? What’s his deal? She gave him a withering look that he noticed for a moment, but then redirected his glance back at the boy.

 

“Oh woops,” Rob chuckled, trying to act nonchalant although obviously perturbed by this scarred stranger’s interruption. “At least I made the lemon ones then.”

 

Sandor just stared back at him. _Who the fuck was this guy?!_ Since the moment he walked in, Sandor watched as he tried flirting with Sansa, giving her smiles and pretty words. He thought she wouldn’t be interested, but then he noticed her blush when the little shiteater looked at her and talked to her. He tried staying calm, fidgeting with the wood on the countertop, but like yesterday, that fucking coffee went right into his veins. When she agreed to go out with him, Sandor couldn’t help himself anymore.

 

He continued glaring at the boy, although he felt Sansa’s equally intense glare at him. If she wanted to start some kind of Mexican standoff, she could go right ahead.

 

“Um...well…,” Rob started. “I’m just gonna get going.” He began walking across the cafe. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alayne.” When he got to Sandor’s side of the counter, rather than just keep walking, some sense of pride made him stop and look at him. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Robert.” He extended his hand towards Sandor, but rather than take it, Sandor just looked down at it, then back at him.

 

“Okay, man,” Rob half-heartedly chuckled, then walked out the door, but not before levelling an angry look at Sandor. Sandor only narrowed his eyes further and unconsciously clenched his hands into fists. He only had a vague idea why this kid bothered him so much, but he thought it mostly had to do with his stupid smile and his feeble attempts at flirtation with the little bird.

 

By the time the boy had left, Alayne had already rounded the bar and stood by Sandor’s side, while he continued sitting on the stool, staring forward, and fiddling with his empty cup. She grabbed his massive shoulder and swivelled him around on his bar stool. His face remained stoic.

 

“What is your problem?!”

 

“What’s _my_ problem?,” he replied incredulously. “What’s _his_?!”

 

“Look,” she began, in a half whisper because she already noticed Randa staring at them with a broad smile on her face. “I don’t know where you’ve been for the past four years, but wherever you were, they obviously didn’t manage to teach you any manners.”

 

At that, Sandor threw his head back and laughed, now drawing the attention of anyone without their headphones on. He kept laughing, then made a show of wiping tears off his face.

 

“Oh hell,” Sandor gasped, while still fighting through some chuckles. “You certainly don’t change, girl. Manners?!” He laughed again, but she could only stare at him, growing more angry and more red-faced by the second.

 

“I guess I never imagined seeing you act like such a jealous child,” she spat at him. That comment quieted his laughter quickly.

 

“Jealous?,” he asked her incredulously. Then, he pointed at his chest and repeated, “I’m jealous? Of what?”

 

Alayne hardly knew how to answer that question, but she felt her cheeks growing hot and wished that her complexion didn’t so often betray her. She could already see him noticing her hesitance and probably planning on how to take advantage of it. She was seventeen all over again, silenced by his rude words and behavior.

 

“I don’t know,” she said, pushing through Sansa’s old habits and finding the nerve she gained since. “Jealous of that _boy_ maybe. Was it because he was handsome? Because he was talking to me? Looking at me?” Unconsciously, his shoulders seemed to slump down as she talked, badgering him with her own questions. Yet, he still opened his mouth, about to add some insult to the conversation no doubt. She didn’t let him though.

 

“I noticed you doing the same thing earlier,” she said. “Yet, that was totally okay….when you did it. Of course.” With each word, she felt herself expanding, taking larger breaths and relishing the moment. Right then, she forgot about his kindnesses and even his kiss, but focused on all those times he made her feel small. She remembered Sansa, but also called Alayne to her defense. She watched as he registered her words and appraised her again.

 

After a few moments, he finally smirked and looked down. _Looks like she’s finally shed her feathers_ , he thought. This is what he always wanted for her, but now his conception of her shifted considerably. He suddenly remembered all the times he screamed at her little sister, telling her how different she was from the little bird. As Sansa continued pressing him though, he saw those wolfish tendencies he’d noticed in Arya spark through.

 

He raised his eyes to hers and noticed her hardened gaze still set on his face.

 

“Yeah, Sansa,” he whispered, while picking up his cup, standing, and stretching his arm around her to place it in the dirty dishes bin. His left arm brushed against her shoulder, and he felt her breath hitch when he called her Sansa. He remained standing next to her, close enough so that she raised her chin high to keep looking at him. He looked down at her and continued, “It was all three: because he was handsome and talking to you and looking at you.”

 

He always told her he’d never lie to her. Yet, her jaw slackened anyway, and she felt her pulse stutter then pound again maddeningly. But he wasn’t done.

 

“I didn’t turn around and drive almost two hundred miles back here to watch someone else have you again,” he rasped, still whispering. He seemed shocked by his own words. After speaking them, his eyes darted from her face and shifted around the room, obviously uneasy. When she remained silent, he cleared his throat, turned, and left the cafe in a few long strides.

 

The rest of the cafe slowly pulled Sansa back to reality: the soft music spilling through the speakers, the taps of cups being placed on dishes, a few low conversations, then finally a wolf-whistle from the other side of the cafe.

 

Sansa looked, and there was Randa, obviously beaming and all too pleased with the situation that just transpired.

  
From across the shop, she heard her mutter, “I cannot _wait_ to tell Mya about this.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am alive and so is this story! lol. I had a dissertation chapter due last Friday, which pretty much took all my time for the past month. After I turned it in though, I immediately jumped back into this fic. This is a bit of a bridge chapter, but the next one will be up in the next couple weeks for sure. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience and for the many comments you've all left me! I really appreciate it!

Although it was a small town, Mya still enjoyed riding her motorcycle through the short streets, twisting around the corners, and accelerating down the main avenues. She was on her break from the job she finally managed to land with her engineering degree. Rather than get lunch with Lothor, a guy whose attentions were only now begin to show a bit more, she decided to head toward her old stomping grounds and see how the girls were doing.

 

She pulled in to her usual empty spot, climbed off her bike, and headed toward the door, while taking off her helmet. On first glance, the coffee shop was the same as always. Some soft indie pop (that Mya always hated) played through the speakers, and Randa leaned against the counter, chatting up a customer.

 

Mya chuckled as she watched Randa push her tits up higher, obviously trying to get this guy’s attention. Her chuckle, however, drew Randa’s attention, and she immediately grinned.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Randa called. Mya only smirked and approached the counter, while Randa made her way out of conversation with the customer.

 

"Hey babe," Mya said, once Randa came over to the register. "I thought I'd join you and Alayne for lunch."

 

"Oh Alayne leaves a bit earlier on Fridays," Randa replied. "She has a tough class in the afternoons that she likes to prepare for a little more."

 

"That's a shame. You got anyone helping you out?”

 

“Nah, Fridays are pretty relaxed, especially in the afternoons. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Well, I guess it's just me and you for lunch then. You got anything to make sandwiches out of the leftover bakery stuff?"

 

"Yeah," Randa answered, as a few more customers came in. "Just go to the fridge, and you'll find the stuff to make it." Mya walked around the bar, throwing her bag and helmet on the counter, and headed for the back. "Make one for me too!"

 

While Mya prepared the sandwiches, Randa took care of the new customers, writing down their orders and brewing their coffees with the chemex. After a few minutes, Mya carried out two plates, both laden with big sandwiches, one made with a croissant, the other with a bagel. She sat at the counter, while Randa placed her plate on the other side, so she could remain behind the bar just in case any new customers came.

 

"The new job's treating you alright?" Randa asked, narrowing her eyes at Mya.

 

"Yeah, it's fine," Mya replied between chews. "Why?"

 

"Oh nothing. I just wanted to make sure you weren't having lunch here because you wanted to get away from there at all costs."

 

"No," Mya laughed. "I just wanted to hang out with you guys." Randa nodded and took a few more bites from her sandwich.

 

"Do you see Baelish there at all?"

 

"Yes," Mya answered through a groan. "He always acts like we're old buddies when we bump into each other. I know he's just trying to look good in front of the other head honchos, and it's so damn annoying."

 

"Oh I can just imagine it," Randa said. "Him pulling his little slick-but-commanding routine. You trying to act polite and failing miserably."

 

Mya laughed and replied, "You've got it mostly right. Through my obviously fake smile, I'm just focusing on memories of him keeping me and you here after hours to restock the pantry, while he sweet-talked Alayne out front."

 

"Such a skeezy motherfucker," Randa whispered, while shaking her head. "Thank God he's spending more time over there now. I can tell it makes life a little easier for our girl."

 

"I'm sure," Mya said. "She doing okay? I only saw her for a minute the other day."

 

"Yeah, she was doing fine for a while, even going to those open mics across the street, but now she's bogged down with school." Randa finished her sandwich and quickly washed her hands at the sink. "And that new guy in town isn't helping the situation."

 

"Oh he's come on some repeat visits?"

 

"He sure has. Nearly scared the shit out of the baker's boy yesterday." Mya laughed and asked for details, which Randa gave with a few dramatic flourishes of her own. Mya kept chuckling throughout the story, imagining the poor kid's embarrassment and trying to picture Alayne actually telling off a guy.

 

"It was glorious," Randa concluded. "I didn't know she had it in her. She just told him exactly what she knew he was up to, and he stalked out with his tail between his legs like a sorry old dog." Both girls laughed out loud. "Alayne was totally out of it for the rest of the day though. I'm pretty sure he said something to her before he left, but I couldn't catch it."

 

"And the plot thickens," Mya said, grinning. "You'll have to keep me updated on the drama." With that, Mya wiped her hands on a napkin and carried her dish to the bin. Imagining Alayne talking to a guy of her own free will brought a smile to her face, even if it was a conversation that ended a bit tense.

 

She remembered when Alayne first came to town, obviously towed in by Baelish with some bullshit story that he was her uncle. Mya didn't have a family to speak of, but she knew that Baelish's attentions couldn't be categorized as those belonging to a kindly uncle.

 

Both Mya and Randa noticed small things about the new girl, like her constant fidgeting or her completely hopeless first attempts at brewing a cup of coffee. What always struck Mya though was when she would catch her staring at herself in the old cracked mirror over the back sink, where they washed all the cups and dishes at the day’s end. Rather than briefly gaze up at herself, like any pretty brunette like her would, Alayne back then would stand transfixed, staring at her reflection and completely forgetting the cold water running over her hands.

 

The first time she caught her doing this, Mya silently watched from behind the doorway and quietly walked away, wondering about the silent girl her and Randa were suddenly forced to work with. A few days later, Mya caught her again, staring at herself as if she were some stranger. Instead of quietly escaping again, this time, Mya walked over, picked up a few soapy dishes from the bottom of the sink, and helped her wash up. Alayne quickly looked over in surprise, and for a moment, Mya noticed how her eyes were swimming in unshed tears. Then just as quickly, Alayne coughed into her sleeve and surreptitiously wiped her eyes on her shoulder.

 

Mya noticed the small move, but kept quiet about it. Alayne softly whispered, "Thank you," and from then on, they kept the same routine. They'd close together; Randa would wipe down the tables and counters out front, while Alayne and Mya washed the dishes, eventually taking the opportunity to chat to one another. Mya remembered these long chats, as she washed her hands in the present and smiled again, recalling the timid girl who slowly grew more friendly.

 

"Oh shit," she heard Randa whisper from behind her. Mya quickly turned and watched the man they were discussing only moments ago walk through the door. Randa smiled wickedly in her direction, then made her way over to the counter.

 

As Randa approached, she noticed his eyes shifting around the coffee shop, obviously looking for Alayne. This guy lacked any kind of subtlety. When he heard some noise in the back, she watched his eyes widen, but then Mya came out and his face fell.

 

“Did you want coffee? Or did you come here for something else?” Randa asked, breaking through his thoughts. His eyes narrowed at her questions.

 

“I’ll just have the...uh…,” Sandor haltingly replied, still unsure what the name of his usual drink was.

 

“Espresso,” Randa offered, chuckling.

 

“Yeah, that one.” He fished out his wallet and gave her the required money, then took a seat over by the bar again. Mya already regained her seat and fiddled with a few things on her smartphone before finally setting it down. When Alayne’s guy sat next to her, she realized just how huge he was. Mya never saw herself as a small, fragile girl, but he towered over her in every way. Mya didn’t let that deter her though; she wanted to know exactly what this guy was up to.

 

“I think I saw you here the other day,” she said. Sandor only quickly looked over at her, then resumed his former pose, staring out the window.

 

“What of it?” He asked. Mya raised her eyebrows at him, then at Randa, who only grinned and shook her forehead. Randa knew exactly what Mya was up to.

 

“What of it?,” Mya scoffed. If anything really pushed her buttons, it was when a man didn’t take her seriously. “Well, I saw you follow my friend out the door. I saw how she didn’t look too comfortable knowing you were here. So I’m asking,” she paused to grab the stool from beneath him and swivel his body towards hers. “Who the fuck are you?”

 

Mya knew she might be crossing the line a bit, especially after knowing that Alayne had a pretty normal conversation with this guy yesterday, but her memories at the sink coupled with his attitude set her off.

 

He seemed angry for a moment and about to fire back with his own retort, but then he blinked and his eyes seemed to calm. He stared away from her for a moment, obviously trying to figure out what to say, then he looked back and replied, “I’m an old friend of hers. We knew each other from back before she came here.”

 

“She seemed pretty freaked out the first day you showed up,” Randa commented. “Seems odd if you guys are ‘old friends.’” She strongly emphasized the last two words, joining in with Mya as they both sized him up. Randa passed him his espresso when she finished, then crossed her arms and stared at him. He swivelled his cup around a few times, trying to fill the silence.

 

“Was she?” He groaned out, in his raspy voice. “Well, let’s just say the feeling was mutual. I hadn’t heard anything about her in years, and I know she’d say the same about me.” Silence followed again, while Mya and Randa looked at each other a few times, gauging one another’s reactions to his comments.

 

“So what are you doing here now?” Mya asked.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Sandor asked, starting to get exasperated. Randa noticed the scarred side of his mouth twitch in agitation and felt an odd surge of pity for him. “Am I being cross-examined?”

 

“Yeah, you are,” Mya replied emphatically. “Alayne may just be a piece of ass to you, but she means a hell of a lot to us.” Sandor started at Mya’s words, and his scowl deepened much further than it had up to this point. Now Mya felt the tension rolling off him and knew her words had struck a nerve. That was good: a man who _was_ just interested in sex wouldn’t be so offended if it were brought up. Rather than laugh it off, as Mya expected, he silently bowed his head and began rubbing his hands together, trying to ease his stress.

 

“My name is Sandor,” he began through gritted teeth. “I’ve been working for a church near the coast for the past four years. I got a really bad injury, and the priest from that church found me and took me in. I was driving to meet someone when I stopped here to rest for a night. I came in to get some coffee before hitting the road again, and I saw––.” Here, Randa noticed him shake his head slightly. “I saw Alayne.”

 

“And you’ve just decided to stick around then?” Mya asked. “What about your meeting?”

 

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, taking the last sip of his coffee. “It wasn’t anything set in stone with the other...meeting.” Sandor scratched his short beard and shifted his gaze between both women, asking with his eyes if that was all.

 

“So are you religious?” Randa asked. “Working at a church and all.” Sandor immediately scoffed.

 

“Fuck no,” he said, then he grimaced and seemed to rethink his words. “I mean, I appreciate all the shit the priest did for me, but I’m not _converted_ or anything.”

 

“I was just wondering,” Randa commented. “Alayne is our good little church girl here.”

 

“She still hasn’t broken the habit?” Sandor asked and chuckled slightly. Both Randa and Mya laughed with him, and the tension that carried throughout the conversation finally broke. Randa took his cup from him and placed it in the bin.

 

When she returned, Mya began, “So you were coming in here today to see her again?”

 

“Yeah,” Sandor bluntly answered. Although she only talked to him for a few minutes, Mya was beginning to like this guy, who apparently had no interest in beating around the bush. She checked her watch and noticed that she hardly had any time left on her lunch break, and she’d have to speed back to the office before anyone noticed. She began collecting her bag and helmet, when on a sudden impulse she nudged Sandor in the side to get his attention again.

 

“Hey, do you know where the university is?”

 

“I think I passed it on my way in.”

 

“Well, Alayne has a class there in a bit, which is why she’s not here.” Randa stared incredulously at Mya as she spoke. “But her class ends at––what time does it end, Randa?” Suddenly understanding what Mya was up to, and really enjoying it, Randa quickly answered that her class ended at 4:45.

 

“Right, 4:45,” Mya continued. “She rides her bike to campus, but she always locks it up by the library. I hope I’m not doing something she wouldn’t like, but that’s kind of what Randa and I do best, especially when it comes to Alayne and men.”

 

Sandor sat dumbfounded, shifting his head back and forth between Randa and Mya. “So you’re saying I should…”

 

“I’m saying that you should bite the fucking bullet, man,” Mya said, then slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m out of here. Thanks for the sandwich, Randa!” With that, she strode out the door and back to her motorcycle.

 

As Mya revved up her bike, she chuckled to herself and again hoped she hadn’t done something “a little too brash,” as Alayne would always tell her.

 

* * *

 

At 4:45 exactly, Sandor pulled in to the small parking lot next to the library. He put his truck in park and slumped down in his seat, waiting. He felt like a fucking idiot. He went back and forth throughout the afternoon about whether he would actually do something as creepy as wait for a girl unannounced. In the end though, he wanted to see her again badly. After four years of just imagining what she’d look like now, the past few days were akin to a feast after years surviving on crusts of bread. He didn’t think he could go all of today without seeing her again.

 

Another part of him wondered whether this wasn’t some big joke her two friends had come up with to make him look like a lovesick puppy. After all those annoying questions, he didn’t understand how suddenly the one who gave him the hardest time turned into his supporter. Rather than continue wrestling over these questions in his dingy hotel room, he decided he’d go for a drive, but on his way back, his truck just drifted toward where the university. After asking a kid on the roadside where the library was, he pulled in and waited.

 

The minutes ticked by, and Sandor counted each one of them. At 4:50, he turned the ignition off and lowered the windows. Perhaps she got caught talking to her professor after class or something. At 4:55, he got out of his truck and slammed the door. He was getting too restless in there and needed to pace, which he did. Up and down the side of his truck, he walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he periodically looked up at the bike rack, hoping that she’d just materialize the way food at a restaurant did when you leave your table then come back.

 

At 5:00, he lost it. He slammed his hands against his truck and bowed his head until it rested on the hood. He was so fucking stupid. Those girls probably played him, thought it’d be a fun joke to tell Sansa tomorrow. Or even if they didn’t, who’s to say the little bird didn’t chain her bike up somewhere else today or decide to leave later or saw his truck and bolted in the other direction. The last of these scenarios hurt Sandor more than he could’ve anticipated.

 

Then suddenly, he heard the clink of metal against metal.

 

His head bolted up, and he immediately saw her. She had her head down focused on unlocking her bike, but he knew those were her still delicate hands and, in the setting sun, he could see the red undertones in her dyed hair. Without a second thought, Sandor quickly approached her.

 

“Little bird,” he said, trying not to startle her. Of course, she was startled anyways. She looked up at him in shock and quickly looked around them. She continued staring at him, apparently at a loss for words after his sudden appearance. “I passed by the coffee shop today to say hello to you, but you had already left for the afternoon.”

 

“How did you know to find me here?” Sansa finally asked.

 

“Your friend, the one with the motorcycle, told me that you had class until 4:45. She said I could meet you here.”

 

“You talked to Mya?” Sansa asked incredulously.

 

“Yeah, her and your other friend who works at the shop. They told me to come see you here. That you usually locked your bike up by the library. It took me a bit to find the place, but here I am.” _Holy shit, stop fucking talking, you idiot. You’re going to freak her out even more._

 

Sansa just continued staring at him, so finally he decided to take some more initiative.

 

“C’mon, let me help you out with that,” he grumbled, then moved to her bike, fully loosening the chain from the rack. He placed the chain on his shoulder, then picked up her bike and started moving towards his truck.

 

“What are you doing?!” Sansa cried, while striding behind him, pushing at his back to get him to stop.

 

He immediately dropped her bike, the wheels bouncing on the pavement. He turned towards her and impatiently growled, “I’m putting your bike in my truck.”

 

“Why?!” Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose after her shriek.

 

“Because,” he began, trying to keep calm. “I thought we could go somewhere and talk. Catch up on what we’ve been doing for the last few years.”

 

“Why would you care where I’ve been?” Sansa asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Again, Sandor wondered where she suddenly acquired a spine. It was one of the many questions he wanted to ask her for reasons that he didn’t yet want to admit to himself and especially not to her.

 

“Look, Sansa,” he said. “A few days ago, I thought you were dead. I come here and find out you’re not.” While he spoke, she continued boring her eyes into his and refusing to speak. Her silence only further frustrated him. He passed his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his shorn head that he was still getting used to, but Sansa just looked down, fiddling with the brake cables on her damn bike.

 

Sandor suddenly placed his large paw over her dainty fingers, arresting her restless fidgeting, then in an old but still familiar gesture, he propped his other hand underneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his. While her hair was different, her eyes were still the same, and he still loved them. Before he let her get the best of him though, he started speaking again.

 

“When we first talked, you got pissed over the fact that I didn’t go looking for you.”

 

“No, I--,” Sansa began, but Sandor interrupted her.

 

“Don’t fucking lie right now, little bird,” he rasped, while shaking her chin. “I saw it in your face. I know, for some crazy reason no doubt, you _wanted_ me to find you.” He stared straight into her eyes, and her gaze back at him faltered. That was a shot in the dark, but her reaction proved he was right. His heart thumped a bit faster as a result.

 

Sandor shifted his hand, so that instead of pinching her chin, his thumb rested on it, while his long fingers lightly touched her jaw and neck. He noticed her blush slightly and her chest heave in a deep breath. He wanted to draw her closer to him, but her bike was in the fucking way. Not to mention, he didn’t want to spook her after finally getting her attention and, hopefully, her trust. He had no idea why he even felt comfortable touching her like this, but it felt almost natural, as if they never separated. Her calm although bashful reaction showed that she felt the same.

 

“I’m here now though. I want to talk to you and even see if there’s anything I could do for you. I’d never hurt you. I’d never take you anywhere you don’t want to go. Believe that.”

 

“I know, Sandor,” she whispered so lightly that he almost didn’t hear her. Then, she caught him by surprise when she reached up and hooked her small hand into his, resting on her face. Sandor swallowed down his nerves that arose at her touch.

 

“So what’s the real problem here?” He asked quietly.

 

She stared back at him and answered, “You didn’t ask me.”

 

Sandor immediately laughed at her response, and she smiled at his reaction. _The last time I asked you to go somewhere with me, you told me to fuck off. Can you blame me for fearing to ask you a similar question again?_

 

Smirking to himself, Sandor bowed his head and solemnly intoned, “Forgive me, m’lady.” Sansa began giggling. “May I beg the honor of your company at a local bar for happy hour? The specific setting is of your choosing, of course.”

 

Sansa continued giggling, then gave him a devilish look and responded, “I accept your invitation, kind sir. I wish to visit The Falcon if that is to your liking.”

 

“As my lady wishes,” Sandor said, then bowed deeply over her bicycle. On his way back up and when his face was level with hers, he groaned, “That was fucking torture, girl.” At that, Sansa gave a very unladylike laugh and pushed his face away from her, still laughing. Sandor smiled broadly and felt his scarred skin tighten on one side of his mouth, but he paid no mind to it. This girl stared at him, touched him, and she felt no disgust so neither would he.

 

He picked up her bike and hoisted it into the bed of his truck, while Sansa walked to the passenger door and jumped inside. When Sandor joined her, she seemed to again realize what she was doing, trusting someone who had once worked for the family who reduced her family to a distant memory. He watched her chew her bottom lip and stare outside abstractedly.

  
Before allowing her to move further down those thoughts, Sandor grasped her shoulder and said, “Tell me where to go, little bird.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive. And yes, so is this fic.
> 
> It's a pretty long chapter compared to the others, but since I haven't updated in ages (sorry!), I thought I'd just leave it as is instead of breaking it into two. I hope you all enjoy it!

Sansa and Sandor walked into The Falcon, which was already half-full with a mix of office workers and university students. Thankfully, the bar hadn’t overflowed yet, so they moved there quickly to get drinks.

 

“What do you want?” Sandor asked, while he surveyed the beers on tap. Sansa noted this change in a man, who once only drank from the top shelf. Maybe she could ask him about that later.

 

“I think I’ll just have the Shock Top,” she replied. Sandor seemed to snort in derision, then ordered his drink, a local stout that the bartender recommended. Sansa scanned the place for an open table and found an empty high-top near the window that looked out onto the street. She started moving towards it, expecting Sandor to follow with their drinks.

 

After she sat, Sandor showed up shortly thereafter with two pints in his hands. He scooted her Shock Top towards her, then slid onto the stool that was to her left rather than the stool across from her. With his back to the rest of the bar and the window to the right, she felt as if they had a private booth of sorts, which unnerved her slightly. It was his idea to come here and talk, but she watched as he merely took a few sips from his drink and stared out onto the main avenue outside.

 

Sansa took a gulp from her drink and waited a few more moments until she finally couldn’t take the silence any longer.

 

"So you've cut off all your hair," she began...feebly. Sandor's head snapped in her direction, and after a moment, he scoffed then chuckled deeply.

 

"Yeah," he replied. "Is this how little birds like you start conversations? I guess I can play that game." His eyes narrowed at her, then at her hair, which made her slightly uncomfortable. She knew he hated lies. "This is the twenty-first century. It takes a bit more than a bottle of dye to disappear. So tell me how you really did manage to fall off the map?”

 

“You found me,” she muttered. “Maybe I didn’t do such a good job.” She noticed a slight hurt in his eyes at her answer and wondered where it came from.

 

“I told you already,” he growled impatiently. “I found you completely by accident. So again, how did you disappear?”

 

Sansa shifted in her seat. If she answered this question, she’d have to answer all of them. Only she knew all the intricacies of her disappearance, and it was unnerving to let someone in on a secret she had somehow kept now for four years. When she looked up into his eyes again though, she remembered the hurt that momentarily shifted through them, and she remembered that, despite his appearance and his manners, she could trust this man.

 

“Petyr,” she whispered.

 

“Petyr? Who the fuck is that?” He asked.

 

“Petyr Baelish. He’s the one that got me out of King’s Landing, brought me here, and gave me a new identity.” Sansa blurted all this out in one long breath, as if she were exorcising the information rather than just merely telling it. Next to her, Sandor’s eyes widened.

 

“Littlefinger?!”

 

Sansa nodded.

 

“Littlefinger?” He repeated incredulously. “You trusted that snake in the grass instead of––”

 

Sandor cut himself off and took a few long pulls of his drink. Sansa knew what he wanted to say, but didn’t. _You trusted him instead of me._

 

“That’s unfair of you to think that,” she said, more in reply to what she knew he wanted to say rather than what he said. “It was under much different circumstances than your...offer.”

 

“He wasn’t drunk, covered in blood, and threatening your life?” Sandor asked, grimacing through his words.

 

“No,” she replied, looking him square in the face. “He wasn’t.” Sandor stared down at the table and remained silent, so she continued. “It was a few weeks before Joffrey’s wedding. He let me know that he’d be willing to help me escape and give me a place to stay. After you left, Joffrey only got worse. Cersei lost all control over him, and he continued using me as a scapegoat for his rages...even after he killed my mother and brother.”

 

“He didn’t do that,” Sandor interrupted. “Tywin did.”

 

“Same thing. They’re all lions,” she said, rage and hurt edging into her voice. It had been so long since she talked about her family, how they were all dead or lost. Sandor must’ve noticed how overwhelmed she’d suddenly become because he awkwardly patted her arm.

 

“But back to Petyr,” she muttered. “He started talking to me, telling me he had a plan, and I of course was more than happy to listen.”

 

“Did Tyrion suspect anything?” Sandor asked. Sansa winced at the question. She was hoping to skip the part about her own marriage.

 

“Not that I know of,” she said. “And given the aftermath of Joffrey’s wedding, I doubt he spared a thought for me or where I’d run off to.”

 

“You’re kidding yourself there,” Sandor scoffed. “You running away only made Tyrion look worse.”

 

“Perhaps,” she admitted. After a moment though, she pursed her lips and looked up at Sandor. “I don’t owe him anything.” He only stared back into her eyes, and she could see that he was imagining the horrible, perverted things Tyrion had done to her. Tyrion never did though. He never even laid a hand on her.

 

“I didn’t say you did, little bird,” Sandor said. “I always hated the bastard, so trust me, I wasn’t trying to defend him. I’m just telling a truth is all.”

 

“I understand,” she replied, then took a few sips of her beer. “During the chaos immediately after Joffrey’s murder, Petyr took me away. He had everything ready, a getaway car that took me directly to a train that brought me to a bus, which finally got me here.”

 

“Why here?”

 

“Petyr has some old ties. He went to university here and still sees this town as a cash-cow, just waiting for someone to come in and build a city around the central university community. At least that’s how he explains it.”

 

“Makes sense,” Sandor muttered. “What about the new identity?”

 

Sansa fell silent after that question. Sifting through various memories, she gazed out the window for a moment, trying to order them in a way that made sense. She saw herself on the train, being schooled by Petyr in the intricacies of her new life. She then remembered her first weeks in town and how difficult it was to hide, acting like a completely different human being.

 

Sandor must’ve noticed her preoccupation because he swivelled awkwardly in his stool, staring back out at the other patrons in the bar before turning towards her again.

 

“If you’d rather we didn’t––.”

 

“No,” Sansa cut in. “I’m just trying to order my thoughts.” Sandor nodded and sat quietly waiting. “On the way here, Petyr gave me all the details. My name was going to be Alayne Stone, and he was my uncle. I would live with him because my parents died in an accident, and I had no other family to speak of.”

 

She looked up to gauge Sandor’s reaction and noted his concentrated gaze.

 

“Petyr says it’s always good to lace some truth into your lies. Makes them easier to say.”

 

“He’s the expert,” Sandor muttered. By telling him all this, Sansa hoped he wouldn’t begin hating her again, especially because she’d become a liar through and through. Yet, when she looked into his eyes, she saw no judgement there, only curiosity and commiseration.

 

“When we first came here, it was fine,” she continued. “I lived with him a bit north of here, further away from the downtown buzz. He also got me the job at the cafe, which he owns. He thought it was a good way for me to be a part of life here without getting too involved. You see, he wanted my presence known but not spoken of. He didn’t want to keep me as a secret, but he didn’t want to publicize me either.”

 

“Back up a second,” Sandor said. “So he’s the one that took care of your new identity. Records-wise, I mean.”

 

“I suppose so,” Sansa answered. “He gave me my name, a license, a social security number, and everything else I would need. I once asked him how he did it all, but he just smiled and told me not to worry about it. Back then, I was so grateful that I didn’t ask questions, but…”

 

“But then you started to,” Sandor finished. “Why?”

 

“It was small things here and there. I thought that the whole ‘uncle’ bit was just a cover for when we were in public or something, but then he started to use it while we were alone at home. He saw it as an excuse to begin sitting closer to me on the couch, or putting his arm around me, or other little...displays.”

 

Sandor tried hard to keep his clenched fists beneath the table and masked his growing scowl by taking a few gulps from his beer.

 

“Mya and Randa started catching on to it at work. One day, Mya confronted me about it, asking what his problem was and why I had to live with him.” Sansa stopped to take a sip from her beer, then looked up at him. “You know me, Sandor. I’ve lived with either my parents or Joffrey’s family my whole life, so I thought it was only natural that Petyr would want me to stay with him.”

 

“It might be, girl,” Sandor answered. “But not with that asshole. I’ve heard stories about him...some even from his own lips. You can never know what’s true or false with him, but either way, he’s fucked up.” He hesitated before divulging one particular story, involving Littlefinger and her mother, but he doubted she needed to hear that bullshit right now.

 

“That’s pretty much what Mya said, while also hinting that she didn’t like him at all and especially didn’t like his behavior towards me. Once she told me that, I grew even more sensitive to his actions. I waited a while, then I casually mentioned one day how I wanted to live nearer to the downtown area.” She gestured around them, as if to clarify that they were currently in downtown. “He seemed surprised and asked me why, so I said that it’d be closer to the cafe, the university, my friends, everything I needed to actually make a legitimate life here.”

 

“I don’t think he necessarily wants you to have a _legitimate_ life, Sansa.”

 

“No,” she said, laughing weakly. “He doesn’t, but I figured that was a good entry point for me to say that Randa and Mya were asking questions about me, particularly about me and him. Of course, they had, but I painted it as if they were asking more out of maliciousness than out of concern.”

 

When Sandor frowned in confusion, Sansa took a few sips of her beer and continued. “Randa’s family has lived here forever. She has this part-time at the coffee shop just because she enjoys it and likes to be a part of the scene, but the Royces practically own this town. Petyr knows they’re the first people he needs to get around to enact the kind of big-business changes he wants to make around here.”

 

Sandor nodded. “I get what you’re doing. You’re trying to act like you’re spying on the enemy.”

 

“Exactly. I pretty much hinted as much to Petyr, how I wanted to get closer to Randa, etcetera. He was still hesitant about letting me go, but after a few days, he brought it up himself. He tried to make it sound like his own idea, how it would benefit him overall if I lived nearer to the city center. I could get to know more about it and advise him when necessary. He picked the apartment and still helps me with rent, but at least I’m not living with him anymore.”

 

“You’ve become a better liar.”

 

Sansa noticed the resigned tone in his voice, but ignored it.

 

“Yes, I have. I’ve learned from some of the best, and I decided that I’d try to use it against them when possible.” Sansa vehemently spit these first words out, uncomfortable with the slight shame he made her feel with his comment. Then, voicing thoughts her mind only ever whispered to herself when she lay in bed at night, she said, “I don’t know if it’s bringing me closer to or further from myself, but I feel a bit more in control of what happens to me now.”

 

“Don’t get addicted to that control, little bird. Or else you’ll become one of them.”

 

She looked up at him when he said words so similar to what she told herself when she felt as if she was losing a grip on Sansa entirely. She tightened her jaw and, through clenched teeth, muttered, “I’ll never become one of them.”

 

Sandor met her gaze and nodded solemnly. After a moment, Sansa shook her head and let her gaze fall. She never knew where these moments of nerve came from. Like those times she talked back to Joffrey in the capital, her courage always peeked through somehow and forced her into saying words that were buried deep within her. She remembered her father telling her how she, like her sister, had a wild bit of blood, but that she had a harder time perhaps tapping into it. This was after yet another argument between her and Arya. At the memory, she smiled lightly, which Sandor seemed to notice as well.

 

He drained more beer from his glass, and Sansa did the same. They both were taking time to contemplate Sansa's history or rather Alayne's. After a few more moments, Sansa cleared her throat and, still riding that courage she displayed earlier, asked, "What about you? Where did you go after the Blackwater fight?"

 

Sandor sighed heavily and looked up at her through heavy eyelids. Just contemplating how to tell this story seemed to tire him, but Sansa just waited for him to eventually begin.

 

"That's a good question. Somehow, I managed to get back to the place I owned but never lived in. There, I got a bunch of cash I had stowed away and pulled my practically unused truck out of the garage. I hit the road, knowing I'd most likely be killed or something for having left the fight. I drove and drove, only stopping at night to get drunk at whatever truck stop I could find and pass out.”

 

He noticed Sansa fidget next to him and look down towards the table. She always hated him when he was drunk. He knew that, but he smirked now at the thought that something else made her look down after hearing about his behavior.

 

“At one of these truck stops, I ran into some assholes who had the idiotic idea of clearing out the highways in their area, making it safe for the regular citizens. Of course, it was a racket. They would take money from the fucked up drunks in the area, claiming their vigilante sainthood. They tried doing this with me, but I beat the shit out of their leader and fled.”

 

“Is that how you got this?” Sansa asked, pointing at the new scars on his arm.

 

“Yeah,” he said, turning his burnt forearm towards her. “Turns out I can’t stay away from assholes, who like fighting with fire.” He smirked, but Sansa only stared back at him with a sympathetic look on her face. That look always frustrated him, so he blurted out what he meant to ease her into.

 

“Your little sister was there.”

 

“ _What?!_ ”

 

Sandor expected a strong reaction, but her shriek rose above the usual barroom din and attracted a few glances. Some female onlookers even gave him a dirty look, assuming that he’d done something grievously wrong. He only glowered back at the eavesdroppers and waited for them to turn around before continuing his conversation. Sansa too seemed slightly taken aback by her reaction and pulled a smile for those around them.

 

“What do you mean?” She asked in a considerably lower voice. “Did you speak to her? Where was this exactly? What happened?”

 

“Calm down for a second, and I’ll tell you.” Sansa narrowed her eyes at his words, impatiently waiting for him to continue.

 

“She’s the one who got me in the fight in the first place. She recognized me and started screaming out who I was, what I’ve done, and a whole bunch of other shit. So then these jackasses get their hero complexes all bloated up and decide to fight me for my _crimes_.” Sandor laughed and took another swig of beer, while Sansa sat on the edge of her seat. “I beat their main man, like I said before, but then I only acted like I left. I knew that most people believed your sister had disappeared.”

 

“Up until two minutes ago, I thought so too,” Sansa chimed in.

 

“Right. So I figured that I’d be able to ransom her to your brother and get some cash. I’d already burnt through most of mine, and these guys took what I had left. I went back to where they were staying and stole your sister.”

 

“You just stole her? Forgive me, but knowing my sister...I find that hard to believe.”

 

Sandor laughed at her comment and at his memories from that night: the bitemarks on his arms and hands, her little forceful punches, how he had to tie her to the passenger seat of his truck.

 

“It wasn’t easy. She put up a helluva fight for a little shit like her, but I managed to get control of her. We started driving towards your brother’s headquarters, and she started to mellow after I let her drive some or let her fight” _and sometimes kill_ “whichever assholes were after us.”

 

“You let her _what_?!” Again, Sansa shrieked. Again, everyone turned towards them.

 

“She wanted to fight people, so I let her. Better them than me. It let her get her shit out on someone else, and it kept her mind off trying to kill me for what I did to that little friend of hers.” There. He finally said it out loud and confessed. He peered up at Sansa to see her reaction.

 

“You were ordered to do that,” she whispered.

 

“Yeah, just like I was ordered to stand to the side and watch grown men beat you.” He noticed her hard mask fall for a moment, and she involuntarily clutched at her stomach, where those fuckers had punched her again and again. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were crystal and shining in those bad memories.

 

“It wasn’t your fault. You were always...good to me.” He noticed how she paused before saying “good,” but he let it slide. He understood what she meant and tried to, for once, just leave it alone.

 

“So what happened?” Sansa asked after taking a few gulps of her beer, seemingly bracing herself for another tragic story.

 

“We made it to your Uncle’s wedding,” he said, trying to cut to the core. He noticed her wince when he mentioned the wedding that turned into a massacre. “She tried to get in, but I knew what was happening. You could feel it behind the walls. I knocked her unconscious and carried her away.”

 

Sandor drained the last of his glass, while Sansa looked down at their shared table, probably imagining what they’d seen. When he was on the road with Arya after that, he realized that his skills in comforting another person were severely lacking. Thankfully, the little wolf bitch hardly needed any. Her grieving was done internally and in silence. Sandor understood that and let her heal however she could. Now, with the pretty bird in front of him, he felt how she mourned in a surprisingly similar way. They were both Starks through and through. They endured, but they also remembered.

 

“After that,” Sandor began again. “We travelled pretty aimlessly. I didn’t know what to do with her now, and she just stayed silent most of the time, only perking up at the chance of a fight.” He noticed Sansa’s lips tremble at that, no doubt seeing her own pain mirrored in her little sister’s. Sandor cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. “She got what she wanted one night when we had a run-in with a few of my brother’s old gang members. They wanted to start shit, and I was too drunk to tell them to fuck off. We brawled it out, and I ended up with a knife getting ripped through my thigh.”

 

Sansa gasped. “And Arya?”

 

“She did her part,” he half-answered. “We managed to get out, but I was done for. The wound kept seeping in the truck as we sped away. By the early morning, I’d lost too much blood, and we had to pull off at a small town along the shore. I asked her to kill me, but she didn’t. Just left me there. I watched her hail down a truck and jump in.”

 

“Her revenge,” Sansa whispered, while looking down at her lap. Sandor was momentarily surprised at her insight, but then he wasn’t.

 

“Yeah,” he rasped.

 

“But you survived,” she said in a half-question.

 

“I did,” he replied through a smirk. “An old priest found me, took me to the hospital just in time, and looked after me. I’ve been working for him since, doing odd jobs around his church. Once I heard about Gregor, I left and was on my way to him when I stopped here.”

 

Sansa nodded, although he knew that she only heard the last part of his story in a trance. She stopped _really_ listening after he explained how Arya left. He could feel slighted, but a deep part of him knew what it felt like to lose a little sister. Knowing this, Sandor tentatively reached his hand out toward hers and placed his palm over her hand. Startled, she looked up at him with a dazed look in her eyes. He squeezed her fingers, perhaps a little too tightly.

 

“Don’t worry, girl,” he said. “She’s still alive. I’d bet my ass on it.”

 

Sansa’s eyes filled with hope at his words. She remembered what he once told her: _A hound will die for you but never lie to you._ She saw the sincerity in his eyes and immediately trusted him. He couldn’t really know, of course, if Arya was alive or not, but even before his story, Sansa never accepted her sister’s death. Arya had disappeared, yes, but so had she...so had Sandor. Yet, here they were, drinking beers at a university bar and trading their “death” stories.

 

She pulled in a deep breath, finished the last bit of her beer, and exhaled, letting all her doubts and fears out in one long sigh. Sandor nodded at her, then slowly released her hand. He smiled at his little bird, at her surprising strength, and she gave him a small smile in return.

 

When their conversation lulled, Sansa pulled one side of her hair behind her ear and began tidying the various coasters strewn across the table, placing them in piles then pushing them around the edge. Every few moments, she'd peer up at him from beneath her lowered eyelashes. While the fidgeting and the sly looks would've annoyed and even angered him from anyone else, from her they only unnerved him. After continued minutes of lingering looks and shy smiles, he felt as if he were going to explode and finally took both of their empty glasses back to the bar for refills.

 

Sansa watched him walk over to the bar and smiled to herself, knowing that only his discomfort made him go back for another round. If she were honest though, she wanted another beer, and she wanted to stay with him a while longer. Their conversation had been heavy, and they both had a lot to take in, but she couldn’t imagine leaving him now. In telling him her story, she had given him a part of herself. She felt attached to him in a way that she’d never fathomed before.

 

Standing at the bar amongst the rest of the happy hour crowd, Sandor looked distinctly out of place. Hipsters in skinny jeans and old sneakers crowded the bar, but Sandor towered above most of them in some carpenter jeans, a black t-shirt, and what looked like work boots. He stuck out like a sore thumb, which may have contributed to the fact that he wasn’t getting served after repeatedly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Sansa watched his shoulders grow increasingly tense as the moments passed, and she grew more amused by the moment. When it looked like he was about to give up though, Sansa quickly slipped from her stool at the table and approached him.

 

Rather than squeeze between him and some other patron, Sansa acted before thinking and quickly ducked underneath his arm and stood up between him and the bar, caged in by his arms on either side. She felt him tense for a second, but he didn’t remove his arms from the bar. Sansa turned to smile at him, and he only stared down at her with his brow furrowed. She quickly jumped up on her tip toes and called the bartender, who immediately looked towards her.

 

“Hey Alayne,” he said. “You want another?”

 

“Yeah, James,” she replied. “For both of us, please.” As she spoke, she felt Sandor inch a bit closer to her and place his arms nearer to her own. Sansa secretly grinned to herself and relished her position so close to him. Right then, caught between him and the bar, she felt not just safe, but also as if she could finally be completely honest and free. She hadn't felt this way in years and almost wanted to laugh at the irony in how this man who once made her feel so afraid and alone now made her feel the complete opposite. She never wanted to leave this space, near him and nearer to who she wanted to be.

 

Only now, she didn't know what to do next. Grasping his hand near the library and crouching between him and the bar both came impulsively, but she had no idea where to go from here. She was further startled out of her thoughts when she realized that she actually _wanted_ something else to happen. Their conversation had been cathartic, so now, having unburdened herself of so many secrets, she confronted her feelings toward the man behind her.

 

Throughout the past few days, she was more afraid of him than interested, in a frivolous sense, in his reappearance. Granted, she immediately remembered his rough kiss, but her romantic thoughts hadn't gone much further than that until his jealous behavior at the cafe the day before. His actions toward Rob could only count as a man trying to prove that she belonged to him. Although she had no interest in "belonging" to any man, Sansa could not help but feel oddly flattered by his behavior. Then, his parting words yesterday returned to her: how he'd left but then returned for her.

 

She could hear Randa's voice in her head, screaming at her to realize that Sandor obviously wanted her, but Sansa had trouble accepting that herself. Yet, as she remained silent, lost in her thoughts, she felt him slowly edging closer and closer to her. _Just like yesterday, he flirts like a schoolboy, and he's just as anxious about it._ She smiled again, thinking of how this fierce, scary-looking man was so unnerved by her presence and especially by the prospect of doing anything more than talking.

 

Randa's voice again peeked into her brain, _Men love it when you touch them, Alayne. Just put a hand on him, while you're talking. Start simple._ She remembered this from a night when Mya and Randa had dragged her out for a night on the town. She gave her a number of flirting tips, but Sansa was always either too afraid or too uninterested to give in. If she had to admit, there was one night where Mya added some alcohol to the mix, and she remembered kissing some random guy at a dance club. Mya and Randa ribbed her about it for ages, refusing to let her bury her momentary lapse of judgement.

 

At this moment though, with a man she thought she just might be interested in, Sansa decided to finally put some of Randa's tips to the test. Biting her lip to keep her nerve, she tentatively reached toward his right arm with her left hand. When she finally touched him, she felt his muscles immediately grow rigid. Rather than let that deter her, she scratched her fingernails through the dark hair on his forearm, focusing on the act rather than the larger implications of her touch that was slowly transforming into a caress.

 

He took one final step closer to her, and Sansa felt his chest against her back. She kept running her fingers up and down his forearm, even when he folded his arm closer to her, forcing her to move up to his bicep. She squeezed tentatively, and she barely heard him groan to himself. _God, this is intoxicating._ She didn't want it to stop.

 

The bartender finally placed their glasses in front of them, and Sandor immediately used his free hand to grasp his pint, taking a few large gulps. Setting his now half-empty glass down again, he leaned in to her, nudging her hair away from her ear, and whispered, "Don't tease me, little bird."

 

Sansa swallowed her nerves and let out a shaky breath. _This is it, Alayne_ , she could hear Randa telling her. _Just fucking go for it!_

 

She turned her head only slightly and realized just how near he was. She could only see his eyes, somehow both hard and utterly vulnerable, and she could almost taste the dark beer lingering on his lips, their mouths were so close.

 

"I'm not teasing," she breathed, trying to mask how quickly her heart was beating. He hummed deep in his throat at her words, and his eyes flickered down to her lips. She squeezed his arm again in anticipation, waiting to feel the same kiss she felt four years ago. Only now, she wasn't terrified, and he wasn't bloodied and drunk.

 

“Alayne! You made it!” _What the fuck?!_ , Sansa thought, although she didn’t give voice to her inner vulgarity.

 

She looked around Sandor, who was muttering a string of curses, and spotted Anthony, a friend of hers who sometimes accompanied her on guitar when she came to open mics. Like the rest of the patrons, he wore the usual hipster get-up––tight jeans, flannel shirt––but his hair, makeup, and combat boots made it clear that Anthony identified more as a punk than anything else. Right next to him stood Robert, whose voice just cut off her moment with Sandor. Robert waved at her once she caught his eye, and Sansa had no choice but to move towards him. After tapping Sandor’s extended arm, he begrudgingly let it fall to his side, still growling underneath his breath.

 

 _Don’t worry, I agree with you,_ she wanted to say. Instead, she just locked eyes with him and squeezed his hand before moving away.

 

“I thought you said you were busy for the rest of the semester,” Robert said, once she moved near him.

 

“I am,” Sansa replied. “I’m just here for a few drinks with a friend of mine.” Robert’s face fell as he took another look at the friend Sansa was referencing. Sansa turned to look with him and watched as Sandor grinned and mechanically waved at him. She chuckled at his behavior, then turned again to the boys. “Hey Anthony! It’s been a while.”

 

“Yeah, babe,” he drawled. “I’ve had to find myself these idiots, so I could keep playing.” Rob looked affronted, but Sansa only laughed.

 

“Sorry,” Sansa replied. “This semester has been nuts, but in a few weeks, I can join you again. If you’ll still have me.” Anthony laughed.

 

“Of course! That’d be perfect,” he said, while going in for a hug. “I’ve missed you around here.”

 

“I’ve missed it too,” Sansa added. She turned to look back at Sandor again, whose grin was nowhere to be seen. He glowered at Anthony now, instead of Rob.

 

“You gonna stay for our set?” Rob asked hopefully. “It’s in a couple hours. We just came in to drop off our stuff.”

 

“I don’t think I can,” Sansa lied. “I have work early tomorrow, and I only came in for happy hour.” Rob looked crestfallen, and while yesterday it would’ve saddened her, today she felt a little less sorry for him. Perhaps it was the conversation she’d just had or just the man she had it with, but she felt something shift in her this evening and wanted to ride that wave toward wherever it would lead her.

 

“So who’s the guy?” Anthony asked, while nudging her in the ribs. Sansa immediately felt herself blush, a reaction she didn’t expect or want to show.

 

“He’s just an old friend of mine.”

 

“Yeah fucking right! Look at those cheeks,” he laughed, while squeezing her blushing face. Sansa shrugged him off, giggling.

 

“No, honestly,” she said, through her chuckles. “We’ve actually just been catching up.”

 

“Well if you don’t want him, let me know,” Anthony joked, a little too loudly. Then, he sidled up next to her, while Rob moved over to the small stage, and said, “He looks like he’d make an amazing top.”

 

Sansa loudly gasped and smacked Anthony on the arm, which sent him into even more hysterical laughter.

 

“Why must I always be surrounded by either you or Randa?!”

 

“Because you love us and secretly enjoy how crude we both are,” he responded. “So is that a no to you giving me your sloppy seconds?”

 

“That’s a no!”

 

“Oooohh, so you _are_ fucking him?”

 

Sansa groaned and just narrowed her eyes at him. Anthony laughed again and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m just messing with you, love,” he said.

 

Suddenly, Sansa felt someone grip her waist, while she was still talking to Anthony. She quickly turned around and saw Sandor there. He tried to awkwardly smile, but it faltered. Realizing that there was something else motivating his actions beyond jealousy, she grinned up at him, again trying to reassure him that she was there to be with him as he had asked.

 

“Sandor, this is Anthony,” she said, while Anthony extended his hand. Sandor shook his hand, and Sansa immediately missed the weight of it on her waist. Part of her felt as if she were back in the Red Keep again, hyper aware of his touch. Except this time, rather than fear, she felt something entirely different and which she had trouble admitting to herself.

 

“Alayne was just telling me that you’re an old friend of hers,” Anthony said.

 

“Yeah,” Sandor rasped. “Who are you?”

 

 _And there it is_ , Sansa inwardly groaned. Anthony gave her a quick, sly grin though, and answered, “I sometimes partner up with Sansa when she needs someone on guitar.” Sandor merely nodded, but still seemed wary. “Have you heard her sing before?” Anthony asked.

 

Sansa’s entirely body tensed at the question. Sandor had of course heard her sing multiple times, humming pop songs or performing classics in front of guests. That’s how he came up with her nickname. _The little bird_. Well, the name came from her singing and her manners, two traits that he regularly scoffed at. She tensed, however, because the last time they saw one another four years ago she had sung for him. He forced an old prayer out of her with a knife to her throat.

 

Amidst this torrent of memories, she heard him respond, “I have.”

 

She kept her eyes elsewhere, trying to mask her discomfort, and she could feel that same discomfort radiating off the man behind her. But then, he cleared his throat and added, “Not in a long time though.”

 

“Well, we have to fix that then,” Anthony cheerfully replied. He immediately grabbed Sansa’s hand and pulled her toward the small stage at the far end of the bar. More shocked than anything else, Sansa let herself be led away from Sandor, but not before looking back at him and noticing his small smile. She smiled as well, almost dazed by the quick turn of events, then she turned and looked at Anthony.

 

“He’s a possessive one, isn’t he,” Anthony joked, while he pulled his guitar out of its case.

 

“Yes,” Sansa said, no longer caring whether that made it seem more like her and Sandor were together. “It’s one of his faults.” But he wanted her to sing again, and she felt almost as if he had asked her to be his girlfriend. A stupid reaction, she knew, yet she couldn’t help it. She looked back at him again and watched him shuffle his feet awkwardly in the middle of the bar, waiting for them to get ready.

 

“So what’ll it be, babe?” Anthony asked. “Billie? Grace? Patti? ...Debbie?” The last name Anthony stressed, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“No,” Sansa replied, her eyes still locked on Sandor. “Karen. ‘Turn Into’.”

 

“Yesssssss,” Anthony whispered.

 

Sansa pulled the mic out of the cabinet where James stashed all the communal equipment and plugged it into the amp at the side of the stage. At the high sound of the plug going into the amp, the rest of the patrons turned their heads, noticing the two performers up on stage. James, the bartender and manager of the place, also turned and yelled, “You guys are early.”

 

“Fuck it,” Anthony yelled back. “We’re just gonna do one song, and it’s Alayne.” James merely shook his head, laughing, and kept handing people their drinks.

 

Anthony pulled a stool up on stage, gesturing to whether she wanted it or not, but Sansa declined. He sat on the stool instead, squeezing his boots onto the rungs and strumming a few chords on his guitar. After tuning it a bit, he nodded toward Alayne, and she began.

 

“Hi everyone,” she said into the mic. “We’re not on the schedule for tonight, but this is just an early treat. Hopefully, a few of you know it.”

 

Anthony began strumming, and while he went through the first few bars, Sansa took a deep breath, then started.

 

_I know what I know_   
_I know_   
_On the car ride down  
_ _I hear it in my head real low  
_ _Turn into  
_ _The only thing I ever…  
_ _Turn into  
_ _Hope I do  
_ _Turn into you_

 

Sandor stood stock still as she began her first verse. He couldn’t recall ever having heard this song, but he tried to just focus on her and on the lyrics she sang. Around him, he noticed how some patrons kept up their conversations, but most had quieted, looking toward the duo on the stage. Sandor admittedly wasn’t looking at the duo, just at his little bird, singing again.

 

_I know what I know  
_ _I know  
_ _That girl you found  
_ _Keeps that kind of window closed  
_ _She’ll turn into  
_ _The only thing you ever…  
_ _Turn into  
_ _Hope I do  
_ _Turn into you_

 

During this verse, Sandor watched as Sansa’s eyes pulled up from the mic and landed directly on him. Rather than gaze out onto the audience indiscriminately, she focused on him as she sang, and while Sandor felt momentarily lost in that gaze, he tried to hear the words as well. After so long, she was finally giving him––of her own free will––the song he had asked for.

 

She was the one on the stage, but she looked right at home, while he was a ball of anxiety. He shifted on his feet, swallowed his unease, and kept listening as she continued.

 

_Can’t say why I kept this from you  
_ _My, those quiet eyes become you  
_ _Leave it where it can’t remind us  
_ _Turn this all around behind us  
_ _Oh! Well I know!  
_ _I’d fall right in to keep you out  
_ _I’d like to tell you all about it_

 

Sansa belted those last three lines, and a few people in the bar whistled and clapped. Anthony strummed through a few bars by himself, while Sansa merely hummed into the mic, smiling and nodding at those who cheered her. Most of those other strangers, however, didn’t notice how she directed those lyrics to one man. He noticed though and stood dumbfounded, now leaning up against a wooden support behind him.

 

She kept singing a couple more verses, but Sandor finally ducked his head and only listened. Triggered by the song's lyrics, Sandor's memory returned to the Elder Brother's parting advice. After calling Gregor a ghost from his past and urging him to leave that ghost behind, the Elder Brother told Sandor, "I only hope your path leads you far from hate and towards something more lasting."

 

When Sansa sang that line, _Leave it where it can't remind us_ , her gaze on him intensified, and he felt as if she was looking straight into him, knowing what his initial journey plans were and pulling him toward another journey...with her. That last part Sandor optimistically added himself. Her earlier confession, her flirting at the bar, and now this song all pointed toward a certain direction: that she wanted him.

 

Another part of him, the part he still designated as "The Hound," hesitated though. What if she were just toying with him, using him to hear about what was happening in the world they both came from, flirting with him to get that information? What if Cersei and the Imp and Littlefinger rubbed off on her, and she learned how to manipulate someone just as skillfully as they? 

 

After almost thirty years getting attention from women who wanted nothing more than a quick fuck, he didn't know how to approach this situation. While he was used to these transient "relationships" if they could be called that, he knew that it would crush him if that was all Sansa wanted. It made him feel vulnerable, an emotion that he always repressed, thinking it a weakness. Sansa always managed to weaken him though. From almost the moment they met, she had an uncanny power over him that no other person had—well, other than his brother. And there was the greatest conundrum. The only other time he let himself be overpowered, he paid for it with half of his face. What would Sansa take from him?

 

Before he moved further down the rabbit hole, he realized Sansa had finished her song and was walking towards him. As she moved closer, all his thoughts fled and only one remained: he wanted her. In her flimsy blouse that barely showed the outline of a dark bra beneath and her tight jeans hugging her long legs all the way down to some little flats, she captivated him. She did that before, in her evening gowns and her professional makeup, but now, she got further under his skin. Without all the embellishments, she seemed more possible. He didn’t care what came of it; he only cared about whether she wanted him too.

 

Once she reached his side, she timidly smiled up at him and asked, “Did you like it?”

 

“I did, little bird.”

 

He stared down at her, trying to gauge what she wanted from him after that song, and seemingly unnerved by his stare, she smiled again and looked down at the space between them. Always awkward, Sandor didn’t know what to do with his hands, although he knew he wanted them on her.

 

Then suddenly, he felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt and caught her pulling at the hem, revealing how she apparently felt just as awkward as he did. The shy smiles, the way she grasped his arm at the bar, the song she just sang, and now this childish pulling at his shirt all amounted to the same thing. These were just her roundabout, bird-like means of letting him know that she enjoyed spending time with him.

 

Sandor reached down and grabbed her hands, stilling their fidgeting. She immediately looked up at him. Through a grin, he murmured, “If you want to take my shirt off, we should go somewhere more private.”

 

Her blood instantly rushed to her face, and her hands fell to her side. Sandor laughed loudly at her reaction, which only made her blush even more. She seemed about to retort when Anthony suddenly joined them.

 

“So what did you think of your girl?” He asked. “She’s got some pipes, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Sandor immediately replied. _She always has_ , he added internally. Still feeling her earlier embarrassment, Sansa shyly looked up at him, and he winked down at her.

 

“Let’s have a few drinks together,” Anthony continued. “I’ll cover the first round.”

 

What was one round became two then three, while Anthony told Sandor how he met Alayne and how they used to do shows together. Both Sandor and Sansa laughed at his old stories, and he even began trading music recommendations with Sandor, who admitted he liked heavy metal more than Anthony’s favored punk rock. Sansa mostly watched and listened, feeling a strong buzz from the drinks they’d been downing. Anthony noticed her look and started laughing immediately, calling her a dismal lightweight.

 

She expected Sandor to join in on making fun of her, but he just pulled her into his body and asked whether she wanted to head out. She nodded, and Sandor immediately began closing his tab and saying his goodbyes to Anthony.

 

“Nice meeting you, man,” Anthony said. “Take care of my girl.”

 

“I will,” he rasped low and managed a final smile.

 

Sansa hugged Anthony tight before leaving, which gave him the chance to whisper in her ear. “Knock him dead, babe. You’ve got this one in your pocket.”

 

She just laughed and shook her head in response, moving away from him.

 

“I’m serious,” he muttered, so Sandor couldn’t hear while he paid his tab. “If you don’t get that ass, Randa and I will formally kick yours.”

 

She just laughed again, but Anthony noticed her blush and knew that she wanted this to happen as well. He watched them leave and ordered another drink before having to get back on stage.

 

Outside, it was past dusk, but the sky still burnt with some remnants of the sunset. As they walked to his truck, Sandor almost involuntarily reached out and grasped Sansa’s hand in his. He felt her soft, small hand squeeze his tightly and couldn’t help but grin, looking away from her so she wouldn’t notice.

 

He opened the door for her and helped her jump in. He reluctantly let go of her hand and closed the door. Their ride toward her place was mostly silent after she gave him directions. They could both feel that they each _wanted_ to say something, but the right words never seemed to come.

 

After a short drive, he pulled up to her apartment, put the truck in park, and immediately got off to help her with the bike. By the time he hoisted it out of the bed and brought it to her side, she had already slipped out of the passenger seat and onto the sidewalk. The orange streetlight gave her an eerie glow, and Sandor immediately looked down, trying to look away when it seemed that the light on her hair played a trick on him. She almost looked like the old Sansa, with hair of fire.

 

He shook the feeling and handed her bike over, while walking towards the entrance to her apartment building. She whispered her thanks, then added, “I had a great night, Sandor.” She smiled up at him, but he could barely move, not sure what to do next.

 

“I’m glad you found me,” she continued, only now she was staring at the ground as he looked towards her. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk and how much I needed…,” she hesitated, trying to find the right words. “How much I needed someone who _knows_ me.”

 

Before he could think, he bent down slightly and scooped her into his arms, pressing her against him. He’d never done _anything_ like this before, but it felt right. She tensed for a moment, but then immediately squeezed him tighter and tucked her cheek against his neck. He hummed softly at the feel of her, then finally set her back down.

 

Once he pulled away, he noticed a slightly puzzled look on her face, but it disappeared by the time his hands finally let her go.

 

“I’ll see ya around, little bird.”

 

Before he let himself do another idiotic thing, he turned on his heels and walked back to his truck. He got in, slammed the door, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding the entire time. He didn’t even put his key into the ignition, but instead just sat there, staring down the road and noticing a squirrel amble across it.

 

_I needed someone to know me too. I had a great time tonight too. I want you. I want to stay here with you. I’ll leave the rest of it behind. Fuck my brother. Fuck Littlefinger. If he doesn’t like it, I’ll take you away. We’ll go anywhere._

 

_I’d keep you safe._

 

As usual when it came to Sansa though, he choked. He just couldn’t say any of this and didn’t know what to do with it. After tonight––their conversation, comforting one another, flirting, her song, just spending time with her––he felt certain that he wanted her more than ever, and he also felt pretty sure that she felt the same. He should get the fuck out of his seat, walk back toward her door, and slam on it until she let him in, letting him in to her home and her life.

 

Instead, he let his head fall back against his headrest. He stared through his sunroof and wondered what the fuck he was going to do with his life now.

 

He suddenly heard a click and felt the air shift within the cabin. Before he could even lift his head, he felt hands clutching at his shirt and pulling him forward, while small nails bit into the back of his neck. He saw her blue eyes for a moment, but then saw nothing.

 

Her lips pressed against his so firmly that their teeth almost clashed, but she didn’t stay there for long. She travelled across his good cheek, then back around his mouth and toward his scars, which she pressed her lips against even more ardently than she had anywhere else. She moved quickly and almost erratically, but she was killing him nonetheless.

 

He groaned helplessly, then clutched onto her thick hair, pulling her back towards his lips and capturing them between his. He nibbled at her bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth, and he heard her whimper and felt her torso fall against his chest.

 

With an ineptitude that only made him want her more, she licked his lips. When he opened to her, she delved into his mouth, again with more passion than experience, but he was still drowning under her onslaught. He tasted the cheap beer she had at the bar, but beneath that, he tasted her. She was as sweet as he’d always imagined.

 

He pushed back against her, trying to grasp at her waist and pull her closer to him, but she suddenly let his lips go. Between the haze of his blood pounding and her hot gasps against him, he heard, “I’m closing tomorrow at 6. You can pick me up then.”

 

Then, just as suddenly as she’d bounded into his truck, she slid out again. Sandor felt the door slam behind her, but was caught staring at the passenger seat, the space she just vacated. He was dumbstruck––aware that something major had just occurred but hardly able to register it.

 

Sandor exhaled on a gasp, then licked his lips, noticing the wetness around his mouth from her saliva and again tasting her. He sucked his bottom lip, trying to pull the last remnants of her from his own skin, and then grinned like a fool, finally starting to realize what the fuck just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Sansa sings with Anthony is "Turn Into" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I imagine her singing a mix of their acoustic version (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuOxXVc1SLo) with some of the bite from their live performances (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlL-g3_pKFw). 
> 
> Also, shoutout to SimplyLucia's "There'll Be Some Changes Made" for giving me the inspiration/guts to put a song moment in my fic. She does it masterfully, and I hope I got a fraction of that mood here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave any feedback. :)


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